


Fighting And Helplessness

by agib



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arc Reactor, Artist Steve Rogers, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Begging, Betrayal, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 1, Coffee, Crying, Deadpool References, Deaf Clint Barton, Drowning, Electrocution, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Fluff, Gags, Goodbyes, How Do I Tag, Hugs, Human Experimentation, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Torture, Irondad, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark Friendship, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Kidnapping, Medical Experimentation, Medical Torture, Memories, My First Fanfic, Nightmares, Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker-centric, Poor Peter Parker, Post-Spider-Man: Homecoming, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Tony Stark, Psychological Torture, Quinjet, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Sassy Peter Parker, Senses, Sensory Deprivation, Sleep Deprivation, Sorry Not Sorry, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Surgery, Swearing, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Nightmares, Tony Stark Has Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Torture, What Have I Done, Whump, Young Peter Parker, spiderson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-06-24 12:28:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 126,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15630702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agib/pseuds/agib
Summary: Peter hummed audibly at the pleasant memory of his Dad, and ouch, he missed him already. How long had he been here now? Where was here? How long would he be alone, without his Dad, without the feeling of home and safe and warm.Peter needed to think, needed to take note of anything and everything he could. He was a Stark and he could get out of this if he just used his head.Or...Peter is kidnapped and Tony just wants, no, needs, to find his kid.





	1. Headphones

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, uh. This is my first fic so I hope you all enjoy it, I will continue it and will not forget about it. I love reading comments and will respond to them, seeing kudos makes me really happy too. I hope there aren't too many spelling mistakes and I hope you like the story.
> 
> Yes I've seen Infinity war and yes, it did destroy me. I will not spoil anything in this fic because it is supposed to occur before Infinity War. 
> 
> Wish you luck for reading, I will be adding more tags and stuff as the story progresses. Sorry it's so short.

To be brutally honest, this was probably the most scared Peter had ever been during his ‘arachnid adventures,’ as Ned so adequately labelled them. Look – Peter knew he was going to be in some deep shit with his Dad once he got out of, wherever he was. Himself and Tony had just had a very lengthy and ‘important’ talk about Peter’s recklessness and how it impacted his safety and Tony’s patience. Peters joke about it being an intervention had met him with a hard glare and a stern “not the time for jokes Pete.” 

 

Just the fact that his Dad hadn’t called him ‘kid’ indicated to Peter that the conversation was a serious one, but clearly not serious enough to constitute for his whole name. The few times Peter had heard Tony call him by his whole name were nerve-racking, to say the least.  
Peter’s not saying he didn’t deserve the talk, he had been getting relatively fast and loose when it came to his safety. He had ended up getting a few bruises and broken bones that took up to a week to heal, which was awhile when it came to Peter, what with his accelerated healing and all. Telling Tony, he had to skip out on his weekly training back-to-back had the mechanic, worried, mildly curious and a whole lot concerned.

 

Turns out Peter had, firstly, broken his ankle attempting to kick down a vibranium-enforced door. To make matters worse, he had continued patrol for a few hours before deciding it was the right time to go home and clumsily wrap the injury up without notifying anyone of the situation. Luckily for Peter, he healed after about a week and was right back out patrolling as soon as putting pressure on the foot didn’t cause major pain. The second week Peter was out of commission was because he had gotten shot in the same ankle.  
“Honestly Dad, it wasn’t my fault it was the same ankle, the guy just had terrible aim and missed my head that badly.”

 

Peter remembered the shrug that he followed his excuse with. Apparently, his suit – Karen – could detect the bullet still lodged in his ankle, but not some old bone remnants that remained from his first week’s excuse.  
“Pete, you gotta promise me this time” Tony had said firmly, while he was busy wrapping the already healing bullet wound.  
“Yeah, I know. Next time I’m injured to the point where a normal person would get medical attention for, I call you immediately.”

 

Tony had nodded at that, obviously satisfied with Peter’s understanding. He had stood, patted the kid on the knee, and then proceeded to lead him to his room and, for lack of better words, tuck him into bed.  
“Stay outta trouble for a while kid” Tony had murmured into the younger Stark’s soft curls as he pressed a soft kiss on his temple. Peter hummed audibly at the pleasant memory of his Dad, and ouch, he missed him already. How long had he been here now? Where was here? How long would he be alone, without his Dad, without the feeling of home and safe and warm. 

 

Peter needed to think, needed to take note of anything and everything he could. He was a Stark and he could get out of this if he just used his head.

 

\-----

 

8 Hours Prior

 

Peter shoved the last piece of toast into his mouth, smirking at the exaggerated look of feigned disgust on Tony’s face. Peter stood and walked around the table behind his Dad’s chair, wrapping his arms softly around the older Starks shoulders and neck.  
“See you this afternoon afterschool Dad.” Peter said fondly, squeezing a little. Tony squeezed back,  
“Yep, see you then Pete, have fun at school, good luck for that quiz” the older Stark replied with ease, matching his fondness. Peter released from the hug, gripped his bag strap as he swung it over his shoulder and walked out the door and headed into the elevator.  
“Will do, see you later Dad” He called over his shoulder as the doors pinged shut. Tony looked down and smiled to himself, basking in his kid’s lingering optimism.

 

Peter shoved his headphones in his ears as he walked to school, relishing in the thought of relaxing and working on his suit with his Dad afterschool. He walked quickly, not wanting to be late, today of all days, because of his Spanish quiz first period. Peter crossed the street, removing an earbud so he could hear the buzz of the crosswalk, then quickly stuffing it back in his ear. After a few more steps he felt a familiar tingle at the base of his skull, and tugged at his headphone again, listening for what could have triggered his Spidey-senses. The thrumming in his head continued, not easing for a second as Peter whipped his head and eyes around, watching carefully for anything out of the ordinary. He couldn’t see anything, and after a few more minutes of walking and watching and observing, he hesitantly placed one earbud back into his ear, still keeping an eye out for things.

 

He didn’t normally ignore his senses when they flared up like that, but then again, they didn’t normally when he was just Peter. Until he could figure out what could be causing his unease, there wasn’t much point in worrying about them. Despite this, Peter still couldn’t understand why a small, creeping feeling of dread was inching its way through his insides.

 

The young Stark continued walking and almost ten minutes later he let his guard down, pushing his unease to the back of his mind. That was one of the biggest mistakes he could have made.

 

After turning down a side-street, away from the main roads and intersections, Peter felt his senses throb again, more persistent this time. 

 

He took both of his headphones out and looked around with wide eyes, noticing several mediocre things, full rubbish bins, cracked brick work, run-down stores and the like. His eyes caught something out of the ordinary though, a dark, sleek, van with tinted windows. It was parked on the side of the road opposite to Peter and as he surveyed it with careful eyes he saw a flash of movement from the corner of his vision. A person, male, wearing a sweatshirt with the hoodie up, in line with Peter, again on the opposite side of the road to him. Had he missed him before? Overlooked him as a normal citizen? Had he come out of the van? His head throbbed with the steady beat of his Spidey-senses and he felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw his turn, only a few steps away and to his right.

 

He had to turn down an alleyway to get back to the main road which took him to the back entrance of his school. Peter gladly skirted around a closed jewellery shop and into the alleyway. He was barely halfway down the alley way when three things happened, simultaneously. The man in the dark hoodie also walked down the alleyway, two of the dark, sleek vans pulled up at either end of the alleyway, and his senses screamed at him, barely tolerable in the back of his skull.

 

Peter whipped his head around, he was blocked in by both vans, couldn’t run, couldn’t climb a building with the man in the hoodie watching him. Peter was stuck. The doors to the vans slid open and men dressed in dark uniforms began to pour out into the alleyway, there must have been almost twenty by the time they were all stationed around Peter’s small figure.

 

Crap, crap. Oh God, oh no, oh no, shit. Where was his Dad? He needed help, he had to get out of this alley.

 

Peter could only do one thing to get out of this. Fight.


	2. Camera Angles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter fights. Tony figures out his kid has been taken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry the update took awhile, I wanted this one to be longer than the first one.  
> Once again - thanks for reading and please, please leave comments. I absolutely love reading them and will reply to each and every one of them. Kudos are much appreciated.  
> Thanks again, enjoy!
> 
> Also please let me know your opinion on whether the fic should be Peter and Tony centric, or should I write in some of the other avengers too?

Peter clenched his fists at his side, opening and closing them in a flex. He took up a defensive stance.  
‘Okay.’ He thought to himself.

 

‘Okay, I can do this. Just, no Spider-Man powers. I’ll be fine, I’m fine I can fight well enough. Twenty men, that’s not too many.’

 

Running was clearly not an option, he could only fight. Peter stood readily, waiting for someone to make the first move. One of the men stepped forward, his black mask covering his entire face. Peter heard the slight pop of his mouth opening as he sucked in air to speak.

 

“Alright kid.” He said, annoyance laced his voice. Peter stiffened and honed in his hearing so he wouldn’t miss anything the man said.

 

“Listen closely because I will only say this once.” Peter scowled at the order. “We aren’t gonna fight you, these guys are just here for precaution.” The man raised his right arm and waved his hand, gesturing to the men surrounding him. “However, Peter, we will fight if you choose to not comply with us.” He hated that the man knew his name, it just cemented the fact that this was very clearly not a random pick, they knew who he was. His Spidey-sense rang through his head.

 

“I’m not just going to follow you into your creepy kidnapper van, Sir” Peter emphasised the Sir, feigning formality before speaking again. “I want to know some stuff before I decide whether I’m willing to ‘comply’ or not.” He put air quotes around ‘comply’ because he knew he wasn’t going to comply with these people. The man who had spoken to Peter inhaled through his nostrils, but Peter spoke before he could get a word in edgewise. “I want to know, what you want with me, how you know my name and who yo-“ the man cut Peter off rudely.

 

“Hey, this isn’t a negotiation, you will come with us and comply, or we will take you. I’m telling you, you won’t enjoy it if we have to go with the latter option.” The man’s voice was heavy with contempt and he was clearly getting tired of Peter.

 

“Not that I loved this little chat man, but I have a test first period and I’m sure you appreciate my need for education.” Peter could hear the grinding of teeth and he smiled widely.  
“You shouldn’t be such a smart ass, Peter” the man quipped back.

 

“It would be too damn easy for me to just scream out for help ya know.” Peter was trying to get under skin, hoping it would make the fight sloppier on their end.

 

“You will be screaming, don’t worry about that.” Despite the chill that Peter felt run up his spine he didn’t let it show. His senses were practically screaming now.  
With that, the man nodded his head and walked back to the van as the rest of the men stepped forward toward Peter.

 

“So, you aren’t even gonna fight your own fight, huh?” Peter called out to the man. The man didn’t even turn around, just called back over his shoulder to the rest of the men.

 

“Use as much force as necessary, just don’t kill him.”

 

A man gripped Peter’s arm hard enough to bruise.

 

‘Alright, let’s do this’ Peter said to himself as he shoved the man away, shaking free from his grasp. He kicked out at another masked man as he felt his Spidey-sense in his head once again. His kick landed perfectly into the man’s left kneecap and he fell to the floor with a surprised yelp. Two sets of hands gripped his shoulders from behind and Peter jabbed his elbows sharply into both of their stomachs, hearing the air whoosh out of their lungs as he spun around and knocked them off their feet. ‘Three down, about seventeen left to go’ he told himself earnestly.

 

Suddenly there were two hands on both of his wrists, another set on his shoulders and, disturbingly, a fourth man right in front of him just standing, watching him. Peter jerked his shoulders, shaking off one set of hands, he yanked his arms upwards, successfully removing one of the man’s grip. He felt the hands around his shoulders again and they brushed his collarbone and he tensed suddenly. ‘No, no, no. Get off me!’ His mind screamed, and he snapped his head back, connecting with the man’s jaw and hearing a satisfying grunt as he fell back off him. The back of his head throbbed from the hit, but he felt it already beginning to ease away as he slipped out of the other men’s grip.

 

He was about to tackle the man who was just standing in front of him when his Spidey-sense shrilled loudly, causing him to hesitate.

 

The burst of pain was quick and red hot across his cheekbone. He stumbled back, grasping at his bearings as he felt a dark bruise already forming. ‘I just got pistol whipped’ his mind supplied him as the sets of hands all returned. One of the men kicked the back of his knees sharply and he fell to the ground, the sets of hands still roughly holding him in place. Peter shook his head desperately, jerking his torso and arms, attempting to free himself of the men. He felt the hands that were clenched around his left arm loosen a fraction, but before he could slip free again another two men were on him.

 

‘Great, just great.’ He thought grimly, now he had two men restraining each of his arms, one pressing his shoulders down and keeping him on the ground, the one still standing in front of him, not to mention the remaining men still surrounding him. Despite this, Peter didn’t stop struggling, ‘come on, I can catch freaking cars going eighty, and I can easily shake these five guys off me, but a normal person couldn’t.’

 

Peter stilled as the man in front of him lowered himself to eye level, his senses throbbed in his head, and his cheek stung, the bruise forming a deep purple hue to it. Without warning, there was a cloth being pressed over his mouth and nose. Peter felt his eyes burning and he smelt the chemicals, he refused to breathe in. He weakly yanked his head backward, but the mans free hand came to the back of his neck, pulling his face forward again.

 

‘Not good, not good, oh no. Not good.’ He thought as he began to feel the need for oxygen grow stronger, his lungs crying out. Eventually Peter had to breathe, and when he did, the smell hit him with such force he let out a heavily muffled gag. The man holding the cloth pressed harder as Peter began to feel faint, his eyes rolling back into his skull.

 

He was swallowed by the darkness.

 

When he came to he was about ten feet closer to the van and there were only two men holding him. Their grips were securely under his arms, dragging him helplessly toward the awaiting door of the vehicle. Peter noted his feet dangling uselessly below him, just scraping the pavement. He looked up quickly, feeling his neck crack at the movement. He kicked out at the man walking in front of him, his back turned.

 

‘Oh shit’ he thought as he was unable to mask the strength of the kick and the man flew forward, slamming into the side of the van and falling to the ground seconds later with a baffled look on his face.

 

“How the hell is this kid awake already” he heard someone shout.

 

“You obviously didn’t give him enough of that stuff you idiot” another rang out. Peter was too stunned at his inability to hide his strength that he didn’t notice the man behind him whip another hit to the back of his head with the butt of his gun.

 

‘That hurt’ he thought as he felt himself slump again, not even trying to fight anymore, feeling dizzy as white spots filled his vision and blackness danced over his glazed eyes once again. He dropped his head, watching as the spinning pavement below him swirled into the dark floor of the van.

 

He rolled his neck, so his head was up again, feeling fuzzy as his vision rocked again.

 

‘Definitely a concussion’ he noted sourly. His eyes met the man who spoke to him first, and he felt another shiver run through his body as the man removed his mask and smirked down at him.

 

He looked younger than Peter would have expected, dirty blonde hair and clean-shaven face. His eyes were greyish in the light of the van and they seemed to roam across Peter’s body dangerously. Peter fidgeted under his gaze, feeling more uncomfortable and fearful for each second he was being held here.

 

The man motioned with his finger for him to sit and he frowned as he stayed standing.

 

“Sorry, I’m a bit tied up right now, sitting isn’t really an option” Peter said with as much indifference in his tone as he could muster right now. The man nodded his head and another blow to the back of Peter’s legs sent him down to the floor on his knees once again. He breathed in through his nose as the interior of the van began to sway.

 

“So, Peter. Reconsidering your choice now?” The man questioned, a smug look gracing his face. 

 

“Not exactly, I still have a test first period which I’m definitely missing right now.” The man looked almost disappointed as he waved his hand and bent down to Peter’s eye level. Once again, the blow to the side of his face came as a surprise because he had been tracking the man’s movements carefully.

 

Peter felt the van jolt forward and begin moving, resulting in a prick of fear to burst deep within his stomach. The space still twisted around him and his cheekbone and jaw now ached together, Peter could even taste the unmistakable rusty flavour of his own blood in his mouth. He leaned forwards and spat the offending liquid pooling in his mouth onto the floor of the van. The man in front of his wrinkled his nose in disgust.

 

“I really wish you wouldn’t keep doing things like that, because I don’t have to hurt you, but when you don’t comply, it makes me want to.” Peter wanted to shoot back a snarky remark, but his cheek still tasted like rust and the spinning wasn’t subsiding. The man stood then, his hands clenching and un clenching, face pinched in anger.

 

“I don’t want the kid knowing how long the drive is, knock him out again, and properly this time.”

 

Peter looked up from the floor, eyes scanning for anyone approaching him, the man noticed this and spoke again, “don’t fight this, you’re wholly outnumbered and it will be less painful if you just shut up and go to sleep for a while.” Peter shook his head, immediately regretting the decision as everything swung around him, and felt a sharp pain in his neck, which he failed to jerk away from in time. 

 

Before he knew it, the darkness was surrounding him, and he fell into it.

\----

Tony watched, with a raised eyebrow, as the kid shovelled the sixth piece of toast into his mouth. He stretched his face into an emphasized ‘gross’ look and smiled as Peter rolled his eyes and rounded the table behind him. He felt the Kid’s small arms wrap around him gently.

 

“See you this afternoon afterschool Dad,” he smiled to himself, being called Dad never got old, he tightened his grip on Peter.

 

“Yep, see you then Pete, have fun at school, good luck for that quiz” he said easily, knowing the boy had been stressing about it the past few nights. Peter stepped away from the hug and grabbed his bag before replying,

 

“Will do, see you later Dad!” He yelled as he headed into the elevator. Tony looked down at the plates and, despite the mess, smiled, he loved his Kid.

 

Although he would normally head to the meeting Pepper had organised for him and then get some work done till Peter’s curly, brown locks bounced their way home, he had nothing to complete today. After the plates were cleaned the mechanic headed down to the labs, planning to tinker and experiment away until Peter got home.

 

He was welding happily with ACDC in the background when his phone rang. The mechanic flipped his helmet off and turned off the heat.

 

“Answer the call F.R.I” he called out as he placed his gloves down and wiped his forehead.  
“Hi, am I speaking with Mr. Parker?” A nasally female voice rang through his office and F.R.I.D.A.Y lowered the music automatically as he replied.

 

“Yes, this is him, what are you calling in regard to.” The number was familiar but obviously hadn’t been important enough to save as a contact.

 

“This is reception for Bronx High School of Science. I am calling to inquire about Peter Parker–“

 

“Yeah, that’s my son” he cut her off sharply, wincing inadvertently at his parental concern.

 

“Yes, I am aware. I’m just here to ask if he is coming to school today.” Tony’s stomach dropped, he felt fear rising in his throat as the woman continued speaking.

 

“He has missed the first three bells this morning and, unless he has deliberately skipped school today, you need to call in to let the school know when he’s sick.” The woman had taken on a condescending tone to her voice and normally it would irritate him but now, Tony’s gut was twisted with a bad feeling. ‘Peter would never skip school like that,’ he thought warily.

 

“Yes, I understand this, and I apologise for not giving you notice of his absence today.” He heard a pause, the shuffling of paper and then her voice picked up again.

 

“Thank you, Mr. Parker, we will notify his remaining teachers of his absence today, next time please call before the first period to let the school know.” He hung up after she gave him the spiel about calling in on time. ‘There’s no point worrying the school right now, who knows, maybe there was a mugging on the way to school and Spider-Man had to step in.’ Tony tried to reassure himself, but he couldn’t stop the bad feeling clawing inside him.

 

Tony dialled Peter next, it went straight to voicemail all four times he called. Tony sat down heavily on his chair and rolled over to his desk.

 

“Can you trace the phone F.R.I?”

 

“I am unable to trace the phone as it appears to be turned off.” The AI’s voice replied after a minute and Tony’s unease grew with her answer.

 

“Can you get access into all security cameras on Peter’s route to school?”

 

“Checking now Mr. Stark.” There was silence for a minute, leaving Tony to hear his own thumping heart and try calling Peter’s cell once more.

 

“I have the footage here Sir,” that brought some comfort to him.

 

“Run facial recognition for Peter.” There was another pause, then her voice confirmed and a screen with the footage popped up before his eyes.

 

It was mostly grainy and as he watched Peter walk the camera view switched every few minutes. It was uneventful, and Tony was beginning to think about checking the footage of the school halls when Peter suddenly stilled to the side of the footpath, ripping his headphones out and snapping his head around.

 

‘Had he heard something? Were his senses alerting him to danger?’ Tony’s thoughts ran wild until Peter hesitantly put one headphone in and began walking once again, still obviously looking around at his surroundings. The footage didn’t have any audio and Tony wondered if he had just missed someone calling out and Peter was perfectly fine, but the feeling of dread inside him was growing with every dart of Peter’s eyes. He watched him walk for about another ten minutes till he put both his headphones back in. The teen turned down a side street and the camera angle switched to one that captured part of the road and the entry into an alley way.

 

Peter still seemed on edge, looking around at his surroundings until something caught his eye, and Tony noticed it as well. A dark van, with no licence plates, was parked on the opposite side of the road.

 

The van wasn’t what made fear grip Tony’s heart like ice, wasn’t what made him shiver in dread or what made him grab the table top as panic coursed through his body. It was the man, dressed in all black clothing, in line with his kid, on the other side of the road. Peter obviously noticed him too, because his shoulders hunched, and he stuffed his headphones away, quickening his pace and turning down the alley way and away from the man.

 

Tony watched in horror as the man crossed the street, motioning his hand at something and stepping into the alley way not soon after Peter. 

 

The camera angle only showed the street and the entry into the alley, and Tony hated how he didn’t have eyes on Peter or the man that was obviously following him. He felt his eyes widen and his brows furrow in anger as he watched the van pull up in front of the alleyway, blocking Peter’s exit.

 

“F.R.I? Get me a camera angle from the other side of the alley.” There was a beat, then the screen presenting the footage split into two different perspectives. Tony could still see the end of the alley Peter had entered from, and now he could also see the end he was supposed to exit from. It was now blocked with a second van.

 

Tony watched in trepidation as the van doors slid open and men burst out, running into the alley with black masks covering their faces.

 

“I am unable to identify any of these men or run facial recognition on them.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice told him, reading his thoughts. Tony cursed under his breath as he sat, watching the van block Peter’s exit and stared at the blank wall of the alley, waiting for something to happen. About ten minutes passed before he saw movement, the shadows of the men in the alley moved forward.

 

‘What are they doing? Are they attacking Peter? Were they hurting him?’ His mind raced, and he wanted nothing but to step through the screen and just help his kid.

 

Abruptly, the first man who trailed Peter into the alley stepped into frame of the camera. He sat down in the van and watched the alley intently, his ankles casually crossed, arms holding the edge of a seat in the van.

 

A few minutes passed before he stood, shuffling deeper into the van, the darkness covering him like a sheet, so Tony could only just make out his outline. A few men piled back into the van, some, if not most, of them were either limping or softly rubbing their sides.

 

‘That’s my kid, give them hell Pete.’

 

Then, one more person entered the frame, or, flew into it. He slammed into the van, falling to the pavement before sitting up carefully with an incredibly shocked look on his face. Tony winced, not in pity, but in fear of the men realising Peter’s identity. No normal kid of his size could ever have enough strength to do that to a fully-grown man.

 

Peter was dragged into the view of the camera and Tony bit his lip as he saw the state the kid was in.  
Although the footage was grainy and spotty, he could make out the deep bruise already formed on the teen’s cheekbone. He looked dazed, as if he had just woken up ‘crap, did they drug him?’ As if in answer, one of the men spoke. Tony couldn’t hear from the footage, but he called out to the A.I, hoping the clip was good enough quality to read lips.

 

“I am unable to say for sure, but I am fairly certain this is what the men are saying. ‘How the hell is this kid awake already,’ and ‘you obviously didn’t give him enough of that stuff you idiot.’”

 

‘So, they did drug him, it must have worked its way out of his system quickly then.’ Tony hoped the men didn’t question Peter’s increased metabolism too much.

 

Tony looked back at Peter, only to witness one of the men cracking him in the back of the head with a gun. He went limp in the men’s grip, his head lolling to the side then back down to the concrete again.

 

Tony watched, paralysed and glued to the screen as the men dragged an unresponsive Peter into the van and the doors slid shut, the vehicle staying still for a few more minutes before driving off and out of the camera’s reach.

 

He attempted to track the van across town, but he lost it and the one not holding Peter after quarter of an hour. He slammed his fists down onto the table, sweeping loose papers and stationary onto the floor in his fit of rage.

 

Eventually, his rage gave way into his panic. ‘My kid, my kid. Oh God, Peter. I’m sorry, I’m coming, I swear I’ll find you.’ He wiped at his face, surprised to feel moisture under his eyes. He laid his head down onto the desk, feeling helpless. ‘Can’t track his phone, can’t track the vans, can’t run facial recognition, can’t do anything to help his kid. His responsibility.’

 

No. This wasn’t what he was like. He needed to stay calm, for now. He needed a plan, something to do, there were always other options.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y, pull up the address of where you got that footage from, send the directions to my suit, I’m heading over.”

 

He let the suit connect over his workshop clothes, the faint glow of the arc reactor pulsing to the beat of his panicking heart.

 

He landed, less than ten minutes later, the fact that Peter hadn’t really made it that far from home when he had been taken. He looked up at the store, a rundown jewellery shop with cracked brickwork and the trusty camera pointing down at the street. Tony stood for a moment where the van had been parked. ‘The kid had been here, just this morning. God knows where he was now.’ The thought struck Tony then, that Peter could be out of the country by now. He shook away that idea, it was unlikely.

 

He stepped into the store, his suit had materialised into a briefcase and he paid no notice to the fact that he was underdressed in the store, for once in his life. He smiled kindly at the old man behind the counter, he must have been in his late fifties, early sixties.

 

“Hello Sir, can I be of any assistance?” The man said slowly, returning Tony’s smile.

 

“Uh, yeah actually. I was wondering if you saw this kid earlier this morning, or perhaps heard any commotion outside?” Tony held up his phone for the man to see, it was a picture of Peter from a few days ago, holding a can of soda and sitting at the table, a book on physics in his hand. The man frowned, obviously taken aback at the questions.

 

“Unfortunately not Sir, nobody was here this morning, we open the store later on week days. I can get you the security footage if that would help, there’s a camera out fro-” Tony cut him off quickly.

 

“No, no. That’s alright, thank you anyways.” He stepped outside, feeling disheartened once again. ‘Another dead end,’ he thought grimly. How was he going to track Peter down? How in the hell, was he supposed to find his kid and get him home safe before anything else happened to him?


	3. Pathetic, Weak, Kid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a little roughed up, the men search his belongings, and he finally gets to know what a taser feels like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a bit of a short chapter, hope you like it.
> 
> Please keep leaving comments, I love reading and responding to them.   
> Will be getting to the serious whump soon(ish)...
> 
> Enjoy!

Peter woke slowly. Everything was fuzzy for a few minutes. He heard a rattling, humming noise and the ground beneath him felt like it was shaking. ‘Where am I again? What’s happening?’ His Spidey-senses were buzzing in the back of his head. He lifted his hands slowly and he found they were heavier than normal, and they both moved together. He was bound, and so were his feet. ‘Shit. Shit. Oh no, oh no.’ 

 

He remembered now, the alleyway, the men, the van, the needle in his neck. ‘How long was I out?’ Peter was slightly calmed to find his head didn’t hurt anymore, his cheek had calmed down and the bruise had probably faded away already. The bruise fading away probably wasn’t ideal, explaining that away would be difficult.

 

They had only bothered to bind his wrists and ankles with rope. Granted, it was thick rope, and there was a lot of it, but Peter could still get out of it with minimal effort. They were tight, and they dug painfully into his skin, if he moved in hands too much they would get rope burn. Knowing he could get free if absolutely necessary calmed him down, but just being in the situation he was in, kidnapped and bound in the back of a van, was feeding his anxiety.

 

Peter jolted as the van stopped. He slid across the floor slightly, and his bound hands scrambled desperately to find a hand hold. His senses flared as a hand to the back of his neck hauled him up to his feet.

“Alright, how is this kid awake already. Did you give him all of the stuff in the needle?” He heard a displeased sounding voice from somewhere behind him. The man that brought him to his feet responded.

 

“Yeah, he must have just burnt through it real quick.” Peter tensed, gritting his teeth as the doors slid open. He was shoved out of the van roughly, and stumbled forward, tripping over his bound feet and ending up on the concrete, barely managing to lift his chin up before it smacked into the ground.

 

“You’re gonna have to carry him, he can’t walk with the restraints.” Peter scoffed silently, they weren’t much of a restraint if he could easily break out of them.

 

“If you take them off my feet I could walk, I won’t try anything.” He said coolly, keeping his tone as steady as possible despite the abandoned warehouse they were parked in front of. The windows were all either blacked out, boarded over or had cracked glass, the building was only one storey, but it had the height of two, all high ceilings and graffiti-covered concrete. Peter clenched his fists and tried not to think about the fact that the warehouse reminded him of the building that was dropped on him.

 

He heard the men grunt in amusement at his suggestion of being unbound and saw two men approach him slowly. 

 

“Think we’ll just carry you,” one of them replied. They gripped him under his arms and began walking him into the building. Peter hated how his feet dragged on the ground uselessly. He squirmed in their grip and felt the pressure of their fingers increase as he did so. He was going to bruise from that.

 

Inside, the building really did look like the one the Vulture had dropped on him. The concrete pillars lined the open space, a few benches and stools had been set up in the far corner and multiple boxes were lining the walls. The men dropped Peter on the ground carelessly, and he shuffled away from the rest of them until his back was pressed against the wall of the building. He felt safer when nobody could approach him from behind.

 

There were only ten men now, the rest had gone who knows where while Peter was unconscious. The man who originally spoke to him in the alley was there, and Peter eyed him carefully as he dragged a chair in front of him. 

 

“Put him in the chair,” he said with malice coating his words like ice. Two men picked Peter up again and sat him in the chair, the man nodded at them. “Now, Peter. These men are going to untie you now, and re-tie you to the chair, and you are not going to fight it. Got it?” He said nothing, didn’t move at all, but a rough hit to his jaw had him nodding his head in response. As the men untied his hands, he calculated. He could make the door from here, and his only worry was getting shot. His eyes hovered over to the guns attached at the hip to all the men, excluding the one who spoke to him.

 

His wrists were free from the rope, but the men kept their grip steady. One of them let go and Peter now had one man holding his wrists together behind the chair, and another untying his ankles. As he felt the last of the rope from around his feet fall away he kicked upwards harshly, connecting with the man’s chin. He snapped his head back and felt the crack of his skull against the other man’s nose. He stood and yanked his hands free from his grip as he heard a shout of pain and made for the door out.

Peter made it all of three steps away from the chair when white hot pain consumed his body. It spread through his mid-section and swam through his arms and legs, shaking his joints and burning the tips of his fingers and toes. His head thrummed, and he arched his back as much as it could, falling to the ground as the air was knocked from his lungs painfully. The ordeal lasted about three seconds and then Peter found himself on the cold, unforgiving floor, not even five feet from where the men he attacked were clutching their wounds.

 

He heard the click of a taser being turned off and he collected his fried mind enough to glare up at the man who originally spoke to him. The man tucked his taser away into his jacket and knowingly patted the lump it formed. Peter rolled onto his back and brought his hands up to his throbbing skull. He groaned loudly and tried to catch his breath.

 

Two more men dragged him back over to the chair, successfully binding his ankles to the feet of the chair and securing his wrists around the back of it. “Now you see, Peter, this is why we listen and comply” the man spat out. Peter felt groggy and everything was out of focus and fuzzy again, he blinked heavily several times until the room came into focus. He was surprised to see a face, inches away from his own, staring back at him.

 

Peter tugged at the restraints, testing his strength but he froze as the man moved closer to him. His hand moved towards his face and Peter was jerking back as far as the chair would let him. He felt cold fingers gripping at his jaw and he stilled once again. The man tilted his face side to side, Peter squeezed his eyelids shut, biting his lip to stop it from quivering in fear. The man tugged his face facing forward again.

 

“Open those eyes Pete.” He said, and it sickened Peter the way he used his nickname and how softly he spoke, as if he were talking to a young child or a disobedient puppy. Needless to say, he kept his eyes tightly shut. There was nothing for a few seconds, as if the man were waiting for him to obey. Then, Peter winced as he felt the man digging his fingers around his jaw firm enough to leave finger shaped bruises. Peter snapped his eyes open and made a small noise of pain, but the offending grip didn’t let up. He stared up at the man through his eyelashes and tried to hide his pain by gritting his teeth.

 

“What did I say, about complying, huh?” Peter darted his tongue out and licked his dried lips and the man’s fingers pressed even harder into his sensitive jaw. He was unable to stifle the quiet moan of pain and discomfort that escaped his parted lips. If anything, the noise egged the man on because the fingers didn’t let up and Peter was growing more and more desperate to get out of the man’s hold. His eyes darted around the room, and the man shook his head back and forth to grab his attention. “Kid, hey, look at me!” He yelled angrily, and Peter listened, flicking his eyes upwards to meet the mans.

 

“W-what are you doing? What d-do you want from me?” Peter spoke quietly, hating the way his voice trembled and gave away his fear. The man smiled down at him, running his thumb slowly against Peter’s chin in a twisted display of feigned comfort. Peter felt sick at the memory of his Dad doing a similar thing when he would wake from a nightmare, he would run his calloused fingers over Peter’s cheeks and run a comforting hand through his curls until he fell asleep again. He wrenched his head out of the man’s grip and was unsurprised to be rewarded with a swift smack across his cheek.

 

“I’m teaching you a lesson about complying, and I want information from you, kid.”

 

“On what?” Peter replied, keeping his voice steadier this time.

 

“Not on what, on who,” the man corrected, “I want information on Spider-man.” He said bluntly, Peter’s heart dropped into his feet. ‘Shit, do they know that I am Spider-man?’

 

“And what exactly makes you think I know anything about him?” The man smirked above him as he stood. He nodded his head at one of the other men and he dragged a crate over next to a metal bench. The man stepped back in front of Peter, effectively blocking his view of the man who he could hear unpacking things onto the bench, the clang of metal on metal making his ears ring slightly.

 

“Because, Peter,” the man continued to speak over the noise, “I’m not stupid, I know you’re Stark’s intern, and I’ve heard the rumours floating around your petty high school classmates. You know Spider-man.” Peter swallowed, feeling his anxiety ramping up more at the mention of school and his Dad.

 

“That’s all they are, rumours. Not to mention the fact that all I do for my – Mr. Stark is get his coffee and log his appointments and – Ah!” Peter was cut off when the man’s fist collided heavily with his temple. He furrowed his eyebrows and clenched his still bound wrists, but the hit wasn’t too hard, and he had gotten much worse while on patrol.

 

“You will not lie to me, you will only speak when spoken too and you will answer everything I ask. Got it?” The man asked furiously, and Peter did nothing but nod slowly, breathing through his nose and trying to stay as still as possible. A sudden thought occurred to Peter and he felt a burst of sorrow in his chest, ‘I miss my Dad.’ He was caught off guard and his eyes, surprisingly, began to burn with unshed tears. ‘No, I am not going to cry, there’s no way in hell I’m being weak in front of these guys.’

 

The man stepped to the side, cracking his knuckles loudly in the large warehouse, and allowing Peter to view what the other man had set up. Peter, who was vehemently trying to shove thoughts of his Dad away, snapped his eyes to the metal bench. The bench in question, was now littered with an array of medical and construction tools. Various hammers, scalpels, knives and scissors were lined carefully over the surface, and Peter could feel his Spidey-senses flare in warning.

 

“What a-are those for exactly?” Peter asked timidly, his pitch rising in poorly concealed fear. The man moved closer to his chair again and Peter could hear his own heartbeat thumping rapidly, his breaths coming in shorter and more panicked.

 

“Those, kid, are my leverage against you. Ask a couple questions, break a couple fingers, make ‘em bleed a little.”

“I – I don’t – I don’t know anything about Spider-man.” Peter whispered tentatively, testing the strength of the bonds to reassure himself once again.

 

“Lying Pete – don’t do it.” The man sighed threateningly. He circled around Peter until he was behind him and placing his hands over his shoulders, squeezing carefully, his fingertips brushing his collarbone. He leant down, draping one arm around Peter’s neck casually. His senses exploded, screaming at him to move and he tried to, but once again the blast of pain raced through his neck and careened through his body, sending white hot flares of agony rattling through his skull.

 

Peter cried out, biting his lip to cut off his own cry and tasting blood as his teeth slid through his lip, splitting the soft skin. He gasped for air, choking on the blood in his mouth as the pain pulled away. His body trembled as he sucked in air and coughed out the blood from his lip. He peeled open his eyes to see the man place the taser down on the metal bench alongside the rest of the tools.

 

“Liar.” The man called out, dragging another chair over and placing it directly in front of Peter’s slumped body. “Pete, I – ”

 

“Don’t call me that.” Peter cut him off furiously. The man quirked an eyebrow in interest, sitting down on the chair backwards, placing his hands on the back and leaning his chin on them. He waved a hand and one of the men Peter had fought before came forward, thumping his fist down on the back of Peter’s head.

 

“Care to explain why I can’t call you by your name, Pete?” He asked, emphasizing his name cruelly. Peter spat blood at his feet and rolled his head back to face him, staring directly into the man’s cold, grey eyes, he replied darkly.

 

“Because you don’t have the right to call me by the name the people I love do, because you’re nothing but a stain on this city and I know that Mr. Stark is coming, and he will make you pay.” Peter’s voice didn’t quiver, he didn’t stutter, and he didn’t miss the small look of worry that flashed over the man’s face before it was washed away with the look of pure fury.

 

“You know what, you little shit, you’re gonna learn not to talk back like that, one way or another.” His voice was low as he stood, gripping the back of Peter’s chair, the inside of his elbows grazing his neck in a way that didn’t exactly imply positive outcomes. Peter narrowed his eyes, looking up at the man and mustering the best glare he could through the terror and adrenaline coursing through his veins.

 

“Fuck you.” He said plainly, causing the man’s vein to throb on his temple and the wood to creak under his white knuckles. Peter noticed as a flicker of something floated across his face and he pushed off his chair, leaving it wobbling in the air before gripping Peter’s shirt and tugging him harshly back down. He parted his lips and ran his tongue over them, practically shaking with ferocity.

 

“Teach him a lesson,” he called to the men behind him, smirking hatefully as they trooped toward Peter, a few of them cracking their knuckles and necks in a mock display of their strength. They lunged for him, and Peter immediately used his full strength to tear at his bonds. One of his feet pulled off the chair as the fists began to rain down. He had a particularly hard hit to his right eye and left cheek which would leave bruises, and he was winded from a few knocks to his ribs and stomach by the time they stepped away from him. Peter was breathing heavily and still tugging at his wrists, feeling the rope begin to give slightly. He looked around, wondering why they had stopped when he saw the leader clutching a phone to his ear.

 

“Yeah, we got him at the warehouse for questioning. Uh huh, no, no, you took his bag and phone then? Good, and you turned it off to avoid tracking? Perfect. Sorry what? You found what in the bag?”

 

‘Shit. Not good, really, really not good.’ Peter had his suit and web shooters stored at the bottom of his school bag, which he was only just realising wasn’t with him when he woke in the van.

 

“I see. Yeah, we’re gonna restrain him with the special cuffs and transfer him over now. Yeah, get the room ready with the stuff I set up now.” The man had a glint in his eye as he shut the phone off with a click. He stalked towards Peter as he sat motionless on the chair. His arm reached out for the teen as he kicked the chair away and thrust himself at Peter. His fingers wrapped around his throat and squeezed tightly, cutting off all his air. A choked off gasp of fright and pain escaped out of Peter’s split lip and he wheezed, futility trying to slip out of the powerful grip around his neck.

 

“You shit. You thought you could hide it from me, huh? Well you were wrong, and now you’re gonna suffer the consequences. You are going to endure a whole world of hurt before your precious ‘Mr. Stark’ is gonna even begin to try and save your sorry little ass!” He screamed, eyes alight with anger and teeth bared as he leaned all his weight on Peter’s airway.

 

Peter tried to respond, tried to deny and lie his way out of the situation, but he just couldn’t. He couldn’t get a breath, couldn’t talk. The only thing he could manage was a weak, obstructed gag of pain. He felt like his eyes were bulging, his face felt hot and it felt like his windpipe was being crushed as the corners of his vision morphed into a grainy black. White spots danced in the forefront of his watery eyes as he felt himself begin to fade away.

 

The hand pulled away as Peter teetered on the edge of consciousness. As soon as nothing was obstructing his airway he fell forward, coughing and hacking, sucking in air like a vacuum. He gasped at the relief of inhaling, and he could feel the hand-shaped bruise that wrapped around his throat like a snaking purple and blue watercolour.

 

He let go of Peter’s shirt and shoved him back against the chair, his head snapping back and hitting the back support roughly as he still struggled to suck in enough air for his burning lungs. “I’m driving over myself, make sure he’s restrained at all times, and use the special serum on him.” He turned back to face Peter who was still curling into himself as much as he could. The man dragged his fingers through the weak teens curls and gripped tightly, yanking his head backward with such force his neck cracked. The man was facing him when he next spoke, but he was directing his words at the rest of the men.

 

“We caught ourselves a spider, and the spider is a pathetic, weak, kid.” The man smiled down at Peter, but fury still burned deep in his eyes. His grip in Peter’s hair loosened and began carding through, ruffling the curls in a way that mimicked the way the boy’s Dad would after a long day. Peter pulled back weakly, his feeble attempt seemed to encourage the man as he began to scratch his scalp in a heinous display of false comfort.

 

One of the other men, who was watching the exchange intently, spoke up.  
“It’s gonna be fun getting info outta him, now that we know he can handle the pain.” Peter heard the smile in his voice and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach.  
‘I want my Dad. I need my Dad.’ He thought to himself, trying not to think about the fingers still running through his messy curls.

 

“I’m not weak or pathetic, and I’m sixteen,” Peter argued. The man’s hand pulled out of his hair, brushing past his temple as it went. He still had a smirk plastered across his smug face as he stepped back to the table, securing his taser as he went.

 

“Sure, and my name’s not Ryan,” he leaned down again, “and by the way, Samuel over there isn’t wrong, it is gonna be fun getting info out of a brat like you.” He stood, waving his hand as he sauntered toward the exit, calling over his shoulder, “restrain him properly and take him to the location, knock him out for the drive. The less he knows the better.” With that, he pushed open the rusted doors and let them slam shut behind him, echoing throughout the warehouse and rattling inside Peter’s throbbing head.

 

Something, about the finality of Ryan’s command and the fear-induced adrenaline, alit a powerful surge of anger in Peter’s bruised stomach. He ripped his foot out of the remaining bonds and stood, using the momentum to kick his chair back with all his strength and let it fly across the room and shatter into pieces at the impact with the wall. He split the rope binding his wrists and dutifully ignored his own red and raw wrists as he shoved one of the men advancing on him into the remnants of the chair. He kicked out at another two, successfully flooring them and sending their drawn guns skittering across the floor.

 

‘Shit, drawn guns. Run, run, run!’ His mind and senses began screaming at the same time. He turned, dodging one of the men who came at his right, elbowing his backside as he sprinted past.  
‘Fifty feet away. Forty-five, forty.’ He was nearly there, he could see the natural light leaking in through the gap of the door. ‘Thirty feet.’ His Spidey-sense blared in warning, but he didn’t care, he sped up, bracing his arms in front of his, preparing himself for pushing open the doors.

 

Inexplicably, Peter’s feet stopped working, and the ground seemed to be rising to meet him. Darting his hands out at the last second possible, he collided with the floor. He turned himself over, carefully, still curious as to why he was currently lying on the cold floor of the warehouse instead of bursting through the doors into the awaiting sunlight. He got his answer as he tried, stupidly, to lift his arms.

 

Peter’s entire left shoulder was enveloped in fiery agony, tears immediately burnt at the forefront of his eyes, his lip quivered as he cut off his own cry of pain. ‘No, no. This cannot be happening, I just got shot.’ He laid as still as possible, gently moving his left fingers to check that he had mobility. Surely enough, they wiggled along side him, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. The pained teen searched for an exit wound somewhere in his upper torso, but there was nothing. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the path the bullet had taken through his flesh, lodged deep within the muscles of his shoulder.

 

Peter focused on keeping his breathing steady and staying still. He didn’t hear the thud of several pairs of footsteps approaching his cowering form, only noticing when sets of hands roughly held him down as more twisted both his arms behind his back. He whimpered in agony as he felt the bullet, still inside him, grinding and grating against his shoulder blade as the men tugged at his wrists, securing them behind his back. He couldn’t keep his burning tears in his eyes as strong hands grasped at his neck and skull, pressing his cheek into the dirty warehouse floor. He couldn’t move, let alone fight as reinforced metal cuffs clicked around his shaking wrists. He felt a knee digging harshly into his spine and he cried out again as his shoulder was jolted purposefully.

 

“That’s what you get for running, stupid brat.” Someone said as the knee pressed deeper into his back, the hands holding his head down shoved harder and his shoulder was tugged higher. Peter couldn’t stop himself as his pain-filled sobs echoed around the warehouse.

 

Peter didn’t even attempt jerking away as one of the men jabbed the needle into his neck, the darkness was a welcome relief and escape from the pain.


	4. Burner Phones and Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony pushes his pride away for his kid, both Stark's have a nightmare and there are tears spilled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I loved how many of you commented last chapter so I wrote a longer chapter this week in thanks.  
> Hope you enjoy it!  
> Thanks for reading. Next chapter will be more whumpy, pinkie promise!
> 
> Once again, please keep commenting - I love the feedback and am willing to hear any and all suggestions or ideas for upcoming chapters.

Tony stared at the old flip phone. He slid it to the other side of the desk in a futile attempt to push the idea out of his mind. ‘I can’t call in Steve, can I? The rest of them would help. Maybe I could just get in contact with Nat… that would take too much time to track her down. Time, I don’t have. Time, that Peter doesn’t have.’ The genius stood, not feeling much like a genius as he rubbed his hands over his face and swiped at his eyes. Tony leant forward and placed his hands flat on the desk, rolling his shoulders.

 

“F.R.I, play the footage again,” he called out, looking up and tearing his gaze from the burner phone as the screen above him lit up with the same grainy footage. Tony took in the same run-down neighbourhood, the same dim alleyway, the same black van, the same innocent boy with wild and anxious eyes. “Oh, Pete. Kid.” He murmured softly as he watched him turn down the alley once again. His eyes tracked the man and the van that followed, desperately searching for something, anything that he had missed the first twenty times he had watched the feed.

 

Tony took a shuddering breath, rubbing his temples as he leaned back against the chair. He chewed at his thumb absentmindedly and looked to his left, his eyes falling once again on the old phone. He debated in his mind, but what really sold it was when Peter came back into frame. His soft brown eyes were wide and filled with fear, his cheek was bruised and in the low-quality video it looked almost like a smear of black that could be wiped away with a cloth. He only wished he could wipe away his child’s pain as easily as that, or at the very least wipe the assholes who hurt him off the face of the planet. As Tony watched his defenceless kid get thrown roughly into the back of the van he made up his mind.

 

He reached out and gripped the phone with shaking fingers, his eyes roaming over the paused video. The blurry form of his child, his world, the terror and anguish reflecting in his eyes, the harsh, bruising grip of the men holding him. His fingers dialled the only number loaded into the phone on their own accord. The phone rang, obnoxiously, four times before Tony truly contemplated hanging up and forgetting that the thought, of calling Steve for help, had ever crossed his mind. Before he could do so, the unmistakable click of the line being picked up sounded, and he felt his throat close.

 

“Tony?” The voice that answered sounded slightly out of breath but mostly taken aback by the call. Tony opened his mouth and couldn’t find a word, he let his lips hang open for a moment before the staticky sound of movement sounded over the line. “That you Tony?” He forced words, like an adult, and put enough pressure on them to stop his shaky breaths to undermine his stoic mask.

 

“Yeah, it’s me.” He took a breath, steadying himself and gripping the bench with white knuckles. “Steve, I need help. All of you, I don’t care I just – I – Jesus. They – they got Pete. Steve, they took Peter.” There was a pause and the only thing Tony could hear was his own, poorly concealed, panicked breaths and the steady thumping of his heartbeat.

 

“Peter?” Steve said unsurely, and then Tony remembered, the rest of the Avengers hadn’t really met Peter. They had met Tony’s intern once or twice, and they had fought Spider-man at the airport, but nothing else.

 

“I – I’ll explain when you’re all here, he was the kid you guys met awhile back – the, the intern.”

 

“Tony I can try to get everyone together but…”

 

“Steve, I swear, I wouldn’t be calling if this weren’t a life and death situation, and there’s an innocent sixteen-year-old’s life at stake here.” Tony may not be begging, but he felt close to it and he sensed Steve realised this was important enough that he would beg if it came down to it.

 

“Okay Tony, I’ll get everyone together and to the tower. We’ll be a few hour’s so just – just hold tight.” He hated how steady Steve’s voice was, how grounding it was. For a split second, Tony could pretend things were okay, then he looked up and saw the mottled bruise that marred his kid’s face, standing stark against his fair skin even on the screen. He managed a hurried ‘thanks,’ before he dropped the phone to the desk and moved from the chair, sitting down with his back pressed against the wall.

 

“Sir, I have detected an unusually elevated heartbeat. May I suggest you attempt to focus on your breathing for the moment.” F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice rang loud and clear through the room and Tony pressed his head back against the wall, sucking in unsteady breaths as his mind raced. He clenched his fists on his knees, which were hugged to his chest. His eyes burnt, and he felt hot tears dripping down his cheeks. He nursed his breathing back into a somewhat normal range before his eyelids began to feel heavier. “You have narrowly avoided a panic attack Sir, I encourage you to hydrate and get some rest.” Tony nodded, knowing the A.I wouldn’t mind as he began to see more and more of the inside of his eyelids.

\----

The red and blue suit swung around the large man one more time and then it was going down, it’s knees buckling. He heard the cheerful whoop of joy burst out from behind his son’s mask, “Yes! Ha ha, that was aweso-” Tony’s half smile was interrupted as the kid’s excitement was cut short with a pained grunt as the large man’s arm smacked him aside with enough force to change the direction of his web slinging. He watched in horror as Peter fell through the air, collided with a tall stack of wooden crates, turning and rolling multiple times before coming to a stop on the tarmac. As he increased the replusor’s he took note of how small and vulnerable Peter looked, lying on his side during an active battle, seemingly out cold in the middle of a foreign airport.  
Tony landed, running the last few feet, stopping before his kid’s unmoving body, his legs bent, shoulder pressed to the concrete. He heard his own panicked breaths as he got down onto his knees, the metal of his suit clanging on the hard ground. “Kid, you alright?” He asked quickly, moving his hand to press against Peter’s shoulder as delicately as he could. There were two red and blue fists coming at his face and the body below him flipped over as soon as his fingers made contact. Tony gripped the kid’s wrists, dodging the blow as a startled “Hey! Whoa, get off! Wait a minute” escaped the kid’s exposed lips. His mask had peeled up diagonally, showing off half of his young face. Tony continued holding his arms as still as he could, “Whoa, same side! Guess who, hi,” he said, loud enough to top Peter’s disgruntled words. “Oh, hey man,” Peter said weakly, out of breath “oh, that was scary,” he continued with a small laugh. “Yeah, you’re done” Tony replied with firmness, ignoring Peter’s cries of disagreement, knowing the kid was smart enough to assess his own injuries and decide he was done for the day.

 

Darkness.

 

He could see the hole in the sky above the city closing as he fell, the dark galaxy with blinking stars was all he saw as everything spun into more darkness.  
His best friend, falling through the sky, hitting the ground before he could just extend his arms a little further, or increase his speed just a little more.  
Then, Steve, above him, his suit not responding quick enough to stop the shield that threatened to clap down on his power source. The super soldier’s arms tensed as he swung them down, bringing the shield down onto the blue light that graced the suits chest.

 

And more darkness.

 

Peter, his kid, sat in front of him. His lips quivered, out of fear, pain or the cold, Tony didn’t know. All he knew was his kid was hurt, bruises littering his body, appearing like a droplet of tinted water on a white sheet.  
Drip, drip, drip.  
Crack.  
The crack of scissor blades rang in his mind, in time to a gash across Peter’s arm which quickly began to leak vibrant, red blood. He heard a whimper of pain and saw the kid’s other arm reach up to stifle the blood flow.  
Drip, crack, drip, drip, crack.  
Snap.  
The snap of a broken pencil filled his head and he watched in horror as Peter’s ankle seemingly collapsed in on itself under his weight. He saw him fall to the floor, his now bruised and bloodied arms not being able to catch himself in time. His red-stained hands clutched at his oddly angled ankle. Tony saw the tears in his helpless child’s eyes reflect the light of wherever they were as they began to fall down his trembling face.  
Crack, drip, crack, snap, drip, drip, snap, crack.  
On and on, a horrible litany of noises that correlated with his kid’s suffering.  
“Dad” he heard Peter’s broken voice call for him over the sound. “Dad, Dad please!” His voice was croaky and desperate, cracking and wavering on almost every word. “Help! Please, Dad. Please help, it hurts. Dad, Dad please, it hurts so much!” Peter’s voice was rising with every syllable and he was becoming hysteric, begging for his Dad, for the pain to stop, for his Dad to help him, to save him. But Tony couldn’t move, his feet weren’t listening to him.  
Drip, snap, crack, snap, drip, drip, crack, drip.  
Then, it all stopped. The silence was almost worse, in a way, because every small whimper of distress Peter made echoed around the space.  
Peter was lying alone again, his legs bent at odd angles, covered in bloody cuts and dark bruises. His shoulders had given under his weight some time ago and his injured face was held up, facing his Dad’s, with only his elbow, his lips were parted, and Tony was horrified to see the inside of his mouth were coated red and a small drop of blood escaped and rolled down his cheek as he said his next words.  
“Dad, please. Save me.”  
Tony couldn’t even open his mouth to speak and he couldn’t move. He was stuck, and he couldn’t save his kid, he couldn’t even help him or comfort him as the noises rang out again. He just stood there uselessly as the sounds echoed around the space along with Peter’s tortured and haunted cries of pain and cries for his Dad.  
Drip, crack, snap. “Dad, please. Save me.”

\----

Tony woke with a start. His heart thundered in his chest as he inhaled, steadying his breathing once more. He stood, feeling the room spin slightly as he did so. He groaned as he stretched, his bones popping uncomfortably as he worked out the kinks in his body from being asleep on the floor for who knows how long. He headed to his room, F.R.I.D.A.Y turned on the shower for him and he silently thanked her. Washing his face and ridding it of his dried tears, Tony felt slightly better and when he finished in the bathroom he pulled on fresh clothes and had a glass of water, for F.R.I.D.A.Y’s benefit.

 

Glancing at the time, Tony noted he had only been asleep for an hour or so. He rewatched the security footage, jotting down the time stamp as the van sped off, 8:46 AM. It was currently quarter-past three and he had called Steve at around one thirty. Tony pressed his face into the palms of his hands and rubbed at his eyes again, sighing heavily he called Peter again. Hearing his kid’s bright voice, even a recording of it, brought him some semblance of comfort. Tony rested the phone against his temple lightly, as if he were holding Peter close, he listened to the voicemail and felt his eyes prickle with unshed tears. “I’ll find you Pete, I swear” he murmured a soft promise into the air and stood, making his way back to the labs.

 

Tony tinkered around with the footage for awhile before he, almost obsessively, picked up the objects he had previously shoved to the floor and packed up what he had been welding before he got the call from Peter’s school. Tony knew what he was doing, he was keeping himself busy to keep his mind off the fact that he had called Steve, and the rest of the Avengers were on their way to the tower at that moment. So, being the genius he was, Tony distracted himself more by calling Rhodey.

 

“Hey Tones, how are you doing?”

 

“Not the best, uh – are you free right now, I need you to come to the tower, its important.” Rhodey agreed, sensing the tension in Tony’s voice, and said he would be over in half an hour. Tony sat at the desk and stared blankly at his hands, he wanted Peter, he needed to hold him and make sure he was okay. Tony rested his head on his hands and took a few shaky breaths, straining his mind trying to think of anything more he could do to help Peter before people began arriving. He couldn’t think of anything.

Rhodey arrived just before four, his leg braces making metallic tapping noises as he walked to the labs to find Tony sitting at a desk staring off into space.

 

“Hey Tony,” Rhodey said, smiling as Tony perked his head up and faced him. Tony forced a lopsided grin and stood, allowing his friend to pull him into a brief embrace, his hand clapping him on the back comfortingly. The worried mechanic pulled back from the hug, looking at Rhodey as he spoke up again.

 

“What’s going on Tones?” Rhodey asked, concern lacing his voice as he took in his friend pale face and dark bags. Tony stepped back and sighed.

 

“It would be easier if I explain it all at once, when the others get here.” He stated evenly, pushing the anxiety out of his voice at the thought of everyone in the same room again.

 

“What do you mean ‘when the others get here?’ Did you call Steve?” Tony nodded and saw Rhodey tense slightly. He looked down at the floor, shoving away the memories of his friend sailing towards the ground, the sickening thud of his suit connecting with the earth. “Well, if you called him and everyone else it must be serious, is the city under threat?” Tony shook his head no, pulling in even breaths and glancing at the clock. It was four now, and Tony heard the A.I notifying him of Steve’s arrival. He led Rhodey to the lounge area, before standing straight and facing the elevator doors, his heart thudding in his throat.

 

The elevator doors pinged as they slid open, revealing Steve, Nat, Clint and Sam. They stepped out, each of their bodies stiff and at the ready, eyes calculating and searching for hidden threats. Steve nodded curtly, his gaze locking with Tony’s.

 

“Tony,” he said plainly, his face a steady mask of calm.

 

“Steve,” Tony replied, equally as calm. “You can sit, I’m gonna start telling you what’s going on and you can make yourselves comfortable. Now isn’t exactly the time to discuss our earlier – disagreement.” He wasn’t rambling, but just those two sentences made him feel like he was. None of them sat, although Clint leaned casually against the counter, Nat’s hip relaxed minutely, and Steve unclasped his hands from behind his back. With everyone about as relaxed as they would get Tony took a deep breath, folded his arms, and began speaking.

 

He thought it best to give everyone some context first, as they had only really met Peter once or twice, and they had encountered Spider-Man once, at the airport. “The kid, you guys all met him a few times, I told you he was my intern.”

 

“Peter. You said his name was Peter?” Steve asked, his voice as steady as it was over the phone.

 

“Yeah,” Tony continued, ploughing on despite having kept the secret for many years. “The thing is, he isn’t really my intern, he – uh – he’s my, my son. Peter is my kid.” He gauged everyone in the room, watching them with careful eyes. Nat nodded slowly, less taken aback than the rest, Rhodey raised his eyebrows and slowly took a seat in an armchair next to where Tony stood. Clint blew out a breath, whistling slightly, Sam looked out the window and bit his tongue in thought. Steve seemed most surprised, scratching his ear and looking down at his feet, his brows furrowed.

 

“Is he your biological kid?” Sam asked pointedly, and Tony nodded in answer. “And the mum?”

 

“Long gone.” Tony said curtly, shutting that line of questioning down before he had to re-hash part of his life story. Thankfully, everyone in the room recognised this and dropped it. There was an uncomfortable silence which would have extended if Clint hadn’t chimed in with a question.

 

“Not that I didn’t love that piece of gossip, Stark, but why exactly did you need us?” Now it was Tony’s turn to look down at his feet.

 

“F.R.I pull up the footage” he said, and a hologram presented it to everyone as Tony tried to block out the slowly receding memory of a hurt and screaming Peter in his dream. The team watched with varying facial expressions as the camera angles tracked the teens movements. After the footage played for them Steve spoke up.

 

“He was headed to school then?”

 

“Yes,” Tony replied, squinting his eyes at the soldier in curiosity.

 

“What name does he use at school?” Nat asked, seemingly catching on to whatever Steve was leading to.

 

“Parker. Peter Parker. Why are you asking?” Tony queried.

 

“Who knows that he’s your son?” Nat continued.

 

“Me, Pepper, Happy, and now all of you. What are you getting at?”

 

“I’m trying to figure out who know about him, to try and figure out who would want to take him. Most likely reason is because they figured out he’s you son.” Tony shook his head.

 

“No that’s not why, we’ve been specifically careful about it for that reason.”

 

“Yeah, I know Tony but anyone could have trailed him home or – ”

 

“Nobody could have, Happy picks him up. They didn’t take him because he’s my kid. That’s – that’s the other complication. Peter is – the kid, he’s the one you all fought at the airport.” Tony finally pushed the words out and took another few shaky breaths, running his hand through his dishevelled hair and cautioning a look up at everyone.

 

“The Spider Kid, thing. The one that shot webs?” Sam asked, his eyebrows raised.

 

“Yeah, Spider-man is what he likes to be called.” Tony replied, his voice muffled through his hands.

 

“Isn’t… Spider-man, the one who took down the flying bird dude, the one who tried to take all the tech from your plane?” Steve asked, Tony wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did, and Tony felt a blossom of proudness that his kid was making a name for himself as his alias.

 

“Yeah, that’s the one… Peter, he still gets nightmares from when the Vulture dropped a building on him.” Tony hated that he still had nights where he was woken by the voice of his A.I calling out that ‘Peter seems to be in distress.’ Those were the nights that he would hurry down to his kid’s room and rock him, slowly running a steady hand through the shaking teens curly locks until his eyes fluttered shut and his heart came down from the nightmare and his heart began to beat in the rhythm of sleep once again. To Tony, those nights were bittersweet, he hated seeing his kid upset, tears tracking a path down his cheeks, but he knew holding his kid and running soothing fingers through his hair would never get old. In fact, holding Peter close and running his hands through the kid’s curls was all Tony wanted at this point.

 

Nat interrupted his thoughts as she spoke “so, they took him because he’s Spider-man, and not because he’s your kid. I’m willing to bet they don’t even know you two are related outside of the kids… internship.” She paused, stepping forward and placing a calming hand to Tony’s shoulder slowly, as if he were a scared animal that would bolt at any physical contact. Normally, he would remove himself from the situation when physical contact was present, but right now he really needed his kid, and the fear in his gut that was born when he first got the call was rising to an almost unbearable level.

 

Nat glanced back at Steve and shot him a reassuring smile before turning back to the man in front of her. “They took him because he’s Spider-man, not because he’s related to you,” she repeated, “do you know what that means?” Tony looked up at her, his eyes questioning as Nat continued, “it means this isn’t your fault, he wasn’t taken because of you Tony.”

 

“It’ll be okay Tony, we’re going to help get your kid back. He’s strong and a fighter, and I should know, he actually got a few good hits in at that airport. He wouldn’t stay down, didn’t give up.” Steve stepped towards them as Nat lowered her arm and broke contact. Tony shot them a grateful smile and took another steadying breath, stretching his fingers out and hearing the knuckles pop. He waved away the screen and motioned for them to follow him to the lab.

 

“Let’s get working” Clint called out from behind and Tony felt reassurance at having the Avengers helping find his son as he glanced down at his watch. His optimism sunk slightly as he calculated Peter had been shoved into the van eight hours ago.

\----

Peter woke slowly. His head pounded heavily, and he felt what was left of the drugs in his system flooding away. His mouth felt dry and he wondered when the last time he drank was. He knew he had a glass of water with breakfast, but he couldn’t place how long ago that was. Being drugged into unconsciousness really threw off his sense of time.

 

He blearily rubbed his eyes and tried to blink away the sleep. His right eye throbbed with the movement and he experimentally moved his body around to track any injuries. His right eye, left cheek, ribs and stomach still felt badly bruised and he winced as he sucked in a lungful of air, expanding his bruised ribs. The most painful of the bruises was the large, hand-shaped one which wrapped around his neck. His lip was split, and the inside of his mouth had mostly healed from where he had bitten into his own skin. His side and neck had healed well from where the taser burns had been. The largest issue he faced was the bullet, lodged next to his left shoulder blade, the entry wound through his back had somewhat healed, which was worrying because he needed to somehow dig the bullet out to avoid infection and lead poisoning.

 

Thick chains encircled the teens wrists and ankles and judging by how much give they had when he tugged at them, they were vibranium. Peter sat, his back leant against a blank, tiled wall. The room was painfully light, white walls and bright florescent lights lit up the room. There was no access to the outside, no windows, drains or even pipes that could possibly serve as an exit. The room was cold and having poor temperature regulation, on account of his spider-like qualities, Peter shivered slightly, the enforced chains attached to his bonds rattling softly. The cell was relatively small, and if Peter were to lay on the floor and stretch out, it would be about double his length. The cell was unsettlingly clean, sterile and smelt not dissimilar to a hospital room. Peter strained his enhanced hearing and couldn’t hear anything apart from the clinking of his chains and the slight whistle of his anxious breaths. The silence was ominous, and he hated the feeling of sensory deprivation. Even if he knew, logically, that his hearing was fine, he felt incomplete without the constant background noise of people and cars that were far out, even snippets of conversations that took place in separate high-rise buildings.

 

There was only Peter in the cell, the unbreakable chains and a, previously unnoticed object which triggered the buzz of his senses. A sterile, polished, metal bench sat in the far corner of the cell, pressed against the wall furthest from Peter and closest to the door. The lip of the bench and low angle he sat at didn’t allow for the nervous teen to view any of the objects that lay on the cold surface of the bench. It was securely bolted to the floor. Dismal. Haunting. Waiting. A wave of nauseous panic rose in Peter as his terrified mind flashed through the possible uses of such a clinical object. He didn’t like the unanswered questions of what sat on the bench, his chains didn’t allow for much movement and as high as he tried to crane his neck he couldn’t make anything out. He felt helpless.

 

Unbeknown to Peter, the bench homed many of the tools he had seen on the table at the warehouse, and more that were better suited to his Spider alias. He didn’t know it had been eight hours since he had been grabbed off the streets and shoved into the black van. He certainly didn’t know that his Dad had already pushed aside his pride and assembled the Avengers, just so he could find his precious kid.

 

The trembling and shivering teen sat against the cold wall of his cell, his head resting, and eyes closed against the harsh lights lining the ceiling.

 

The distressed and fearful Dad sat against the smooth chair of his lab, his head resting in his hands, eyes closed against the upsetting footage gleaming across the computer screen.

 

Both Starks ignored the silent onslaught of tears that trailed down their faces. Their two minds stayed overworked with fear well into the night, and well into the next morning. Neither of them had the other to kiss goodnight or comfort, neither of them had their steady rock to keep them sane or the worry at bay.

 

The boy wished for his Dad, visions of the gold and red armoured hero blasting his way to him before receding to reveal the man that would free him and hug him until he felt safe again.

 

The older man wished for his son, visions of the bright eyed and smiling, content teen making his way home before running into his arms and letting him run his hands through his curls until he felt secure again.

 

Both Starks flitted between reminiscing about the other half of their world and finding a way to see them again. Both telling and willing themselves to ‘think like a Stark’ and that they ‘could solve this if they just used their head.’

 

Peter eventually let himself fell into a restless, uncomfortable and nightmare-riddled sleep, whereas Tony planned to continue working on finding the boy until he either collapsed from lack of sleep or someone forced him to rest.

\----

Fleeting glances and encouraging smiles from across the lab. The quiet, white noise of his Dad’s tinkering behind him as he focused on the demand of his own homework, the tapping of his laptop and the scratch of his pencil. Later, warms hands guided him upstairs for dinner and the scent of coffee, motor oil and his Dad sat just across from his seat at the table as he happily discussed and chatted about the work they were each doing.

 

The bittersweet and all too familiar press of his Dad’s lips to his temple and the comforting hand running through his hair before a business trip. ‘Only a couple days’ his Dad had promised before heading to the jet and flying to Afghanistan. The pitying and worried looks of Pepper and Happy as they searched for his Dad. Three months. Three months of feeling truly alone and lost without his Dad. The blue sling that itched his ear and neck as his Dad embraced him after three whole months of nothing. The haunted and tortured look in his Dad’s eyes, the panic attacks his Dad wasn’t quite skilled enough at hiding, the heavy bags, that came along with lack of sleep, which resided under his Dad’s eyes.

 

The news stations showing Peter’s terrified eyes the image of his Dad flying up into the hole in the sky, with a missile in his armour-clad arms. The fall from the sky to the city and the moment of uncertainty of whether he would still have a Dad to love when tomorrow came.

 

The pained look in his Dad’s eyes as he sat at the table, alone, late at night through till the early hours of the morning, shifting through the pages of the Accords. The look of grief and hurt as he realised Captain America wasn’t backing down or signing anything. As he realized the small group of people he had grown comfortable around were breaking apart. Sitting in the back of the car, hearing the sorrow and regret in his wavering voice as he asked Peter for the eighth time to ‘go home, it isn’t your fight to fight.’ The way Peter shook his head, his curls bouncing in defiance, before the mask was pulled over his face and he argued once again ‘Dad, I’m fighting this one, I’m Spider-man and it won’t be a life or death kind of fight.’

 

His Dad’s dark, bruised eye after Siberia. The quietness of the compound on the days when everyone would normally train or have breakfast together. The way his Dad slept less and less each night, and the amount of times Peter would hear the coffee machine whirring increased.

 

The wind blowing around him, his still slightly damp curls ruffling in the breeze, the smell of salt, the sound of boats and the ocean. The Iron Man suit hovering above and behind him, repulsors whining near his ears. The memory of his argument with his Dad on that rooftop, after the ferry incident.

 

‘Is everyone okay?’ He asked, worried.

 

‘No thanks to you.’ He felt anger bubbling up. He had tried so hard, and he still failed.

 

‘No thanks to me? Those weapons are out there, and I tried to tell you about it, but you didn’t listen. None of this would have happened if you had just listened to me! If you even cared you’d actually be here.’ The suit fell away and Tony stepped out, startling the teen and he shuffled back in surprise. He saw the disappointment in his Dad’s eyes then, saw the determination in the way he clenched his set jaw before stepping towards him and speaking again.

 

‘I did listen kid. Who do you think called the FBI, huh? What if somebody had died tonight? Different story right, cus that’s on you.’ That stung, and Peter faltered, his anger giving way, he never wanted t hurt anybody, he wanted to protect people. To protect the city as Spider-man. His Dad continued speaking, ‘and if you died… I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.’ He felt regret at his harsh words before, his Dad should never have to have him on his conscience, he didn’t want to burden him anymore than he already had.

 

‘Yes, I know. I’m sorry, I’m sorry I –’

 

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it.’ He felt anxiety creeping up on him, he had to be honest, had to explain why he was doing all of this.

 

‘I understand. I just… I just wanted to be like you.’

 

‘And I wanted you to be better.’ His Dad paused, as if considering something, before trudging the argument on. ‘Okay, it’s not working out, I’m going to need the suit back.’ Pure fear rose up in his gut and he felt sick, he needed this suit.

 

‘For how long?’

 

‘Forever.’ No, that couldn’t happen.

 

‘No. No, no, no. Please, please, please.’  
‘Let’s have it.’

 

‘You don’t understand, this is all I have. I’m nothing without this suit.’ He was nothing without Spider-man, he was just Peter Parker. The nerd, the Stark intern, the scrawny kid with the glasses again. He was nothing. Spider-man, the suit, it had given him everything, a purpose, a way to help people, a way to connect with his Dad and make him proud. It made him more like his heroes.

 

‘If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it, okay? God, I sound like my Dad.’

 

No, please. He’s nothing, he is nobody without the suit. Without Spider-man he’s nothing important, nothing. He wanted to be something. Please don’t take this away from him. The disappointment and anger and frustration in his Dad’s eyes, he had caused that. That was his fault.

 

The rumble of the building as the structure collapsed. As it fell, and debris careened towards him before he could even move away. 

 

The darkness. 

 

The pain. The pain, it hurt, it hurt worse than anything. He could feel his broken ribs rubbing and grating together, could feel his cracked limbs, could feel the weight of the rubble pushing down on his body, trapping him in the dirty, wet remains. His curls were damp and matted with his own blood and he could feel it dripping down his face. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get air in, his mask was wet he was going to suffocate. He ripped it off, letting it fall as he sucked in painful lungful’s of air through his dried throat. He choked on sobs and half-breaths, trying to get in enough air to call for someone to help him.

 

‘Okay ready.’ He told himself, trying to stay calm despite his panic ramping up each second he was pinned beneath the remains of the structure. He pushed on the ground with as much force as he could, it was too weak. The only thing he succeeded in doing was causing bits of dust and plaster to rain down around him like a light flurry of snow.

 

‘Hello? Hello! Please, hey! Hey, please! I’m – I’m – I’m down here! I’m down here, I’m stuck. I’m stuck, I can’t move! – I can’t…’

 

He cried out, begging for help. His breaths were laboured and ragged. He was hyperventilating as he thought he was alone, nobody knew he was here. He could die here, trapped under rubble. He would die, cold, wet, bloodied and alone, pinned under a collapsed building in his homemade Spider-man costume. What if nobody found his body? What if they did. Oh, no, what if his Dad found his body. What if his Dad pulled his cold, lifeless body from the wreckage and held his broken corpse. What if his Dad cradled and rocked his body and blamed himself for his death.

 

‘And if you died… I feel like that’s on me. I don’t need that on my conscience.’ His Dad’s words echoed in his head and he dropped it to the floor, trying to shake the image of his Dad holding his son’s broken and twisted remains and cried as he blamed himself. He shoved the intrusive thought away violently, he wouldn’t let that happen, he wouldn’t scar his Dad like that.

 

He raised his head slowly, ignoring the pain. He stared into the water before him, his mask sitting there, covering half his reflection as if it were on his head again. ‘If you’re nothing without this suit, then you shouldn’t have it.’ His Dad’s voice echoed again. He set his eyebrows in determination.

 

‘Come on Peter. Come on Spider-man. Come on Spider-man. Come on Spider-man! Argh! Argh, come on Spider-man!’ He screamed, willing himself with everything he had. He pushed with all his strength, feeling the dust raining down with more force as it grew into larger chunks of rubble. He focused solely on lifting the building, not paying attention as larger pieces of the debris fell around him, water cascading down his arms and back as he forced himself free. As his arms extended fully he shoved the rubble away from him, coughing and hacking as the dust cleared and his body began to slowly heal his wounds.

 

Peter saw his Dad, he was so far away but he knew it was him. He turned to face the teen, his eyes were unreadable, and Peter didn’t care he just wanted his Dad. He needed his Dad. ‘Please, help. Dad! Help me, I don’t – I can’t. Please save me, save me! I don’t want to be here, I need you! Please Dad save me! Help!’ He needed to be held, reassured that everything was okay. That his Dad was here, not in Afghanistan, not in the hole in the sky or falling from it. That Peter was okay too, that he wasn’t a disappointment, hadn’t failed and wasn’t under that building anymore.

 

\----

 

But his Dad wasn’t there, and Peter wasn’t safe anymore, in fact, he was far from it. His subconscious knew this and let his dreams run their course, leaving the boy tugging at his restraints and whimpering out for his Dad, his wet eyes and cheeks reflecting the light of the bright cell lights as he struggled. His lashes were thick with tears and his loose curls bounced as he thrashed and tried to find the strength to snap or even loosen the tight bonds enough for him to have some give. Peter was tired, he felt helpless and the memory of Ryan’s harsh words swam to the forefront of his mind.

 

‘We caught ourselves a spider, and the spider is a pathetic, weak, kid.’ Peter sobbed, his chest heaved, and he felt so, horribly helpless and so much like Peter, when all he really wanted was to feel like Spider-man. He wanted to spit at his kidnappers’ feet, he wanted to retort with cheek and sarcasm, like his Dad would if he were here. He wanted to feel strong and just anything but helpless. He doesn’t want to feel like how he did as he heard his webs snap on the ferry, like how he felt under the rubble, as he watched his Dad fall from the hole in the sky. He couldn’t be helpless.


	5. Pancakes and Anesthestic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Natasha worry for the stubborn Tony as he suffers silently. Peter lets his tears fall as he endures bloody, metallic torture under the guise of a science experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, glad I got this out on time! It's a bit long - hope that's okay.
> 
> I really buckled down on the torture and took 'graphic depictions of violence' to the extreme. This chapter is pretty brutal so keep that in mind.  
> Hope you enjoy it, please keep leaving comments, they force me to write faster and put a smile on my face when I read them.
> 
> uwu all and thanks for reading and dropping Kudos and bookmarks!
> 
> P.S ~ You're welcome Athena, I gave your fav character the one liner you suggested today <3 ~

Peter was sharply tugged out of the recesses of his haunting nightmares by a wave of freezing water. He wasn’t surprised when he felt the sickening brush of ice cubes against his skin, the water was so cold he felt like he was burning for a second. He tore his eyes open, momentarily forgetting where he was and why he wasn’t staring at his bedroom ceiling. He blinked wearily and looked up, terrified to find Ryan’s chilling face mere inches from his own. The man’s eyes were calculating, and Peter flinched as his hand lifted slowly, fingers reaching up to cup the now dripping teens face between his palms. Peter bit his lip to quickly stifle the whimper he felt tugging at the back of his throat. Ryan, however, seemed to notice this as his lips broke into a nauseating smirk as he tilted Peter’s face from side to side.

 

“Hm. Bruises and split lip on the face have healed nicely, neck is almost fully healed. Electrical burns from the taser have subsided on the neck.” Peter allowed his eyes to dart behind Ryan’s head as he heard the scribbling of pen on paper from close to the door of the room. Four of the armed guards stood, waiting, and beside them were two people dressed in lab coats, much like doctors or surgeons. Peter felt his stomach turn as the image of him being cut open like an experiment, held at the mercy of Ryan, armed men and psychotic doctors.

 

He was pulled from his mind as he yelped at the feeling of Ryan’s cold hands slowly, almost carefully, lifting his shirt up. Peter yanked at his restrains, tensing up as he realised there wasn’t enough give on the chains for him to prevent Ryan’s wandering fingers. He felt his face burn as the man’s hand ghosted over the skin where his bruising and taser marks had been.

 

“Same deal with his chest and stomach, everything’s pretty much healed.” He removed his hand and carelessly tugged Peter’s shirt back down before returning his fingers to his cheek again. He ran his thumb over the teen’s cheekbone, in a mock gesture of comfort. Peter swallowed bile as the memory of his Dad doing the same thing when wiping away his tears filled his head. He refused to compare his Dad with Ryan, because Ryan was sick, and clearly he had no qualms for hurting and kidnapping a sixteen-year-old.

 

“Your healing factor is damn impressive, isn’t it Peter?” He gritted his teeth together and locked his jaw, avoiding eye contact with the man who was still rubbing his thumb over his cheek. The hand pulled away from his face and Peter barely had time to shove away his relief and acknowledge his senses blare in warning before the hand slammed down on the side of his face. His head snapped back and collided painfully with the tile behind him. He groaned and rolled his jaw to ease the throbbing discomfort that radiated through the entire right side of his face.

 

“Look at me and respond when I address you, other than that you can keep your mouth shut. You’ll come to learn soon enough that complying will just be easier for you.” Ryan’s voice held steady with his frustration, but Peter didn’t want to back down. He felt the sudden urge to think like his Dad, to think like a Stark.

 

“Are you back on about this whole ‘comply or suffer the consequences’ charade? You’re stupid, your whole operation is messed up, not to mention, highly illegal, and my Dad will find me.” He spat his words with the familiar sarcastic and harsh spite he often heard his Dad use when he intimidated or hid his emotions from people. Ryan stood, flicking his fingers and the three men moved forward.

 

“I don’t care about whoever your Dad is, he isn’t going to find you, and I really don’t give a shit about the law. If you don’t believe me, ask the collection of other mutants that came here in similar circumstances to you, but never made it out… alive at least.” Peter opened his mouth to comment on the ‘mutant’ remark, but he stopped when his throat seized in fear.

 

“There… there are others here?” He asked nervously, his voice wavering slightly.

 

“There were others here,” Ryan corrected, “but not anymore, because, if you hadn’t worked it out, they’re long dead by now.” His words were cold and uncaring, like he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, grasp the fact that he had stolen the life of other, innocent people.

 

“I – I… you killed people? Like… like you murdered them in cold-blood?” Peter’s voice wasn’t wavering now, it was shaking as he choked out the words in absolute horror. Ryan sneered as he answered, the satisfied smirk painting his features in a twisted, evil grimace.

 

“Of course. I torture people like you, experiment and gather data until they outlive their use, then dispose of them. I would expect by now at least one of them would have families that cared, but either nobody’s intelligent enough to track me down, or my theory is true.” He paused, waiting for Peter to ask about his theory, but the quaking teen was busy looking down at his lap, lips trembling. “My theory, Peter, is that no one is stupid enough to care about mutants, animals and freaks like you aren’t worth our time. Unless the time is spent figuring out how your… abilities could improve the world, you don’t matter to us, to anyone.” Peter let his vision be covered by his thick lashes, as he closed his eyes, trying to block out Ryan’s abhorrent speech.

 

“You know Peter, I’m willing to bet nobody is even looking for you right now. Who would care about you, huh? You reckon your Dad is gonna find you? I reckon he’s glad he doesn’t have to care for an abomination like you anymore.”

 

Peter shook his head, feeling his eyes burn with unshed tears. He felt weak again, like how he felt before he had powers, being bullied by Flash again. He knew it was all words, he knew his Dad was looking for him, he had to be. Knowing didn’t stop his voice from wobbling, or the tears from falling as he looked up with wet eyes at Ryan.

 

“Stop it. I’m not a – a freak. My Dad is coming for me and he’s not g – gonna let you kill me.” He thought that’s all he wanted to say, but he tacked on more with a barely audible whisper, “and y – you aren’t going to break me.” He winced, waiting for the blow to come, but it didn’t.

 

“Mark time, 8:12 am, majority of wounds healed. We can check out the bullet in his back at the lab.” Ryan looked down at Peter, the smirk back on his face, “you’re gonna spend the day with me and the doctors so we can make a few… adjustments to your cell. I’d love to personalise it and tailor it to you.” His smile only grew as he spoke, which indicated to Peter that what he meant didn’t have anything to do with a coat of paint and some posters, but rather something more sinister and cunning, judging by how pleased he looked.

 

The three men took Ryan’s explanation of Peter’s upcoming day as an invitation to cover his head with a burlap sack. Peter hated how it itched and irritated his ears and ruffled his damp curls, but he was preoccupied with struggling in his bonds as the men detached him from the wall and hoisted him up to his feet.

 

“The drugs are still in your system, that may be why it’s proving hard for you to take down three of my men. Don’t worry, if I see you continue to struggle I’ll just hit you with another dosage of the stuff, I have an excess of it just for you, Spider.” Peter stilled his movements, he would rather fake compliance and wait till he had an opportunity to run, then get another wave of drugs that would sedate him into a state of forced compliance.

 

“Good boy Pete,” Ryan praised. Peter felt bile rise in his throat, he hated being praised by the man, it made him feel like he was doing what he wanted.

 

“Fuck you,” he spat fiercely, his words slightly muffled from under the burlap sack as the men tugged at his arms and shoved his back forwards to begin walking.

 

“You’re a bit too young for that kid, but thanks for the offer.” One of the guards whispered in Peter’s ear and he felt a chill run over his skin, goose bumps rising at the notion of the man’s words. He heard Ryan laugh darkly from somewhere ahead of him, but Peter was too focused on trying to memorise the turns they were taking, to care too much.

 

Straight from the cell, left, right, left, left, straight, right, left, right… left? Straight, right… right? Peter lost count as his focus weakened, he tried and failed to track anymore turns as his body was jerked in different directions. Walking with no eyesight threw off his balance and his Spidey-sense wasn’t much help, it was just a steady, continuous buzz at the base of his skull. He knew why, wherever he was, he wasn’t safe, and his senses were on edge. He thought about becoming dead weight and just dropping to the floor and refusing to walk, but he had no doubt the men would just continue dragging him across the floor.

 

One of the men holding his elbows tugged suddenly and harshly at the joint and Peter was jolted forcefully, stumbling over his feet for a moment before righting himself quickly. His sense flared up from a buzz to a warning call and he tensed just before a heavy blow landed on his stomach, the air being effectively knocked out of him. He wheezed slightly as he caught his breath, ignoring Ryan’s command to hurry up. He let himself be tugged along for another few turns before the men holding him stilled, and he heard the tapping of Ryan and the doctors’ footsteps come to a stop.

 

He stayed, slightly swaying in his place as the fingers gripping his arms tightened minutely. He heard the noise of metal wheels rolling across the tiles and the rumbling of something shaking on the surface. He heard Ryan telling the doctors softly about his gunshot wound and he swallowed, his throat bobbing with the movement.

 

“It’s still lodged, the skin’s healed overtop so we’ll have to dig it out.” Ryan paused, and we he continued speaking, Peter could hear the smile in his voice, “don’t bother using anaesthetics.” The now terrified teen shivered and tensed his body, trying to see anything through the sack still draped over his head. He pulled in a shaky breath as Ryan’s footsteps moved toward him, the noise of his shoes on tile echoing slightly. Peter jumped slightly, flinching away from the hand that came to rest on the small of his back.

 

“W-what are you doing?” He asked softly as Ryan’s hand pushed slightly, making him move forward blindly. He kept walking straight until the hand pulled back and gripped both his shoulders, spinning him in a one hundred and eighty turn. The hands pressed down on his shoulders and lead him to sit down on something cool and smooth.

 

“I’m taking you to where you’ll be the majority of today, don’t fight it – just comply.” Ryan’s voice was almost patient with the teen, but it had a malicious undertone that Peter caught. His senses hummed, and he began to fidget slightly under the man’s arms.

 

“Stay still” Ryan said sharply, digging his fingertips into Peter’s upper arms with bruising force. “Come and hold him still while I get the restraints on him.” Now he was fully struggling, he managed to stand back up and begin reaching to rip away the sack, but pairs of strong arms wrapped around his flailing limbs and soon he was being shoved roughly back down onto what he assumed was a bench or table. His chest was pushed down on and he pressed back against it with all the strength he had, but one of his wrists had successfully been attached to the edge of the table and another pair of hands joined the first.

 

With the combined factors of two buff men pushing down on his chest, one of his arms being held down by reinforced cuffs and the small amount of drugs still in his system, not to mention the bullet still lodged in him, Peter was overpowered. His back met the surface of the table with force and his head knocked against it painfully, increasing the intensity of his headache, the sack doing nothing to soften the blow. He moaned and feebly tried to yank his free limbs away from the bite of the cold cuffs, but the amount of people gripping at him made it, so he was secured to the bench without too much of a hassle.

 

“You don’t make this easy on yourself, do you kid?” Peter felt anger surge through him at the nickname, and he pulled at the restraints, arching his back and slamming it back down in hopes of breaking the whole table. He growled and tried to pull away from the finger that began to travel up his leg slowly. 

 

“Get off me!” He yelled, blowing as much anger and force into his words as he could, his voice echoed off the walls and yet, the finger didn’t slow. It dragged up, over his jutting hip bone, along over his stomach and ribs, before finally it stilled over his pulse. Peter tried to move away from his fingers, but they followed his movements. After, what Peter guessed was half a minute Ryan rattled off what he assumed was his heart rate to the doctors, who he heard scribbling it down.

 

“I’m not sure if you just have an extremely elevated heart rate, or if you’re just that terrified right now, Spider?” Ryan phrased it like a question, but Peter was too busy tugging at his restraints to answer. He yelped as a heavy fist came down on his ribs, and he tried to curl in on himself, but he couldn’t move his wrists or ankles any closer to his torso. He was spread eagled on the metal surface, his breaths hitched as he sucked in and back out.

 

“Answer me.” Ryan warned dangerously.

 

“I – I just have a faster heart rate” Peter answered quickly, wanting to avoid another attack while his sense was dulled by the sack. He heard Ryan hum in approval and he realised that he had never truly disliked someone so much in his life, not even Flash was as big of an asshole as Ryan. He squirmed on the table, feeling like a child as he whined “just let me out of these” he suggested, shaking the chains slightly “I won’t try anything if you just get them off.” He heard Ryan bark out a laugh, he knew he was a terrible liar, but there wasn’t much else he could do.

 

“Pull up a second bench next to his, undo the restraints on his left side and flip him over so we can get to his back.” Peter felt his heartrate increase, he didn’t want them poking around in his back to get the bullet out, especially not without anaesthetic. He heard the shuffle of footsteps and heard what he believed to be two men at his head and two more at his feet, one of them must have been Ryan. He could feel hands on his wrists and ankles, pinning them down, but he still struggled, yanking and twisting his limbs in all directions. He arched his back and tried to pull away from the guards and Ryan, but they used his own momentum against him. They rolled him over onto his stomach and he only managed to raise his head just before his chin would have slammed down against the metal.

 

Ryan peeled the sack off of his head and threw it to the side, watching intently as Peter blinked wearily as his squinted eyes slowly adjusted to the brightness of the room he was in. He scanned the room, his chin raised just enough so that his cheek wasn’t pressed against the cold metal. He was in a lab, with high ceilings and no windows, just like his cell. He figured they must have been somewhere underground, considering the lack of access to outside and the bite of the cold that seemed to leak into his bones. His wide eyes roamed over the equipment in the room, everything was surgically white and clinically clean, it made his eyes throb and his stomach feel sick. The two doctors were inspecting him, jotting things down on their clipboards every few minutes, regarding him like a mere experiment, a piece of data to be broken down and analysed. He turned his head to face the other side of the room, in which there was a large metal door, more surgical instruments and equipment and a row of sinks and chemical wash stations with padlocked draws lining the wall.

 

Peter tore his attention back to the bench he was on as the metal cuffs began to squeeze and bite his skin. He shook his arm and leg as they tightened the bonds to the second table, but he stopped when he felt an aggressive hand running through his hair and gripping the curls tightly. His head was forced upwards and his neck was exposed and tilted at an angle where he couldn’t swallow or suck in a proper breath. He coughed weakly as he was forced to look into Ryan’s cold, grey eyes. He could hear the whistle of his breath coming through his awkwardly angled windpipe over Ryan’s words.

 

“You like it? I restock and cater all the tools to whatever subject we have, and you have the privilege of being the latest. The little spider kid who thinks his daddy’s gonna save him. It’s almost sweet how much hope all of you have when we first meet.” Peter gulped, squeezing his eyes shut as the lump in his throat worsened on account of the angle it was being held at. “I suggest you hold onto that hope for now Peter,” he leaned in, his fingers tightening in the teens curls, “because it never lasts much longer than this.”

 

Peter was about to respond, to respond with a bite back at the man, and he opened his mouth to do so, but not before the man acted. He used his grip on Peter’s curls to slam his head down onto the metal surface, hard enough to make a resounding crack echo throughout the lab. His head collided with enough force for him to see white spots flutter in his vision, and he let his temple and cheekbone take most of the hit. He knew what a broken nose felt like and he would rather deal with some heavy bruising than having to reset his own nose.

 

Peter winced as he attempted to roll his jaw, checking everything was still in place, which thankfully it was. Having a bruised face was the least of his problems now, because his mind was laser focused on Ryan’s hand in his hair, which wasn’t tight anymore. The touch was soft, and his fingers carded through his wild curls, which were now fully dried from the water he had woken up too. The touch made his hair raise and his teeth grind together, his spine shuddered, and it took all of his effort to keep his thoughts off his Dad, because he didn’t feel like crying in front of Ryan. It was sickening to think that the pseudo safe hand in his hair was the same one that just brutally whipped his face into the table. He would rather a rough hit here and there then the careful, lingering and soft touches that Ryan dealt.

 

Peter groaned and shook the hand out of his hair, holding in a sigh of relief when he heard Ryan step back from the table. He turned his head and laid his good cheek onto the table, giving his neck muscles a break.

 

“Get rid of his shirt while I grab the tools.” Peter stiffened as he listened to Ryan directing the doctors, he heard the scrape of something being picked up from a bench from the other direction and flinched as he heard the snipping of scissors beginning to cut away his shirt. A set of hands carefully removed the fabric and discarded it, leaving Peter to shiver as his bare torso pressed against the freezing metal. He saw Ryan wheel a smaller metal bench over next to him, the surface containing a kidney dish, cotton swabs, antiseptic wipes, bullet forceps, tweezers and a single scalpel. Peter was very familiar with medical instruments, he had a test in health and biology where he had to memorise and list off the tools needed for different surgeries, and bullet extraction was one of them.

 

“If you’re still, I can promise it’ll hurt a lot less that if you’re stupid and decide to struggle.” Ryan was blunt, and he sauntered closer to Peter, moving further behind him to the point where his eyes couldn’t track the man anymore. Peter gulped, flexing his wrists again to subtly test the strength of them again. If he moved his left arm the right way he could still feel the bullet graze his shoulder blade slightly, it hurt far less that what it originally did, but it was till far less than comfortable. Peter tensed as the cool feeling of the antiseptic wipe cleaned away his dried blood from before the wound had healed. Ryan laughed from behind him as he discarded the wipe and ran a hand over the healed skin of Peters shoulder.

 

“Mmm, just relax Pete, it won’t hurt too bad, the bullet isn’t too deep, and you heal quick.” Peter couldn’t relax around Ryan and he sure as hell didn’t want to either, the idea of letting his guard down around the guards, doctors and especially Ryan, made Peter want to curl up into a ball and hide his face. He closed his eyes as he heard Ryan pick up the scalpel, waiting for the feeling of the blade pressing into his flesh.

 

He almost expected it to just feel like a bad paper cut but it really didn’t. It was a sharp, piercing pain, and it only got worse the deeper the knife cut. By the time Ryan had dug through enough layers of Peter’s skin to draw blood and locate the bullet, Peter was biting his lip heavily to restrain the pained noises he wanted to make. Ryan was silent as he worked, the only sounds Peter could hear were his own laboured breaths and the scribbled of the doctor’s pens on paper.

 

He breathed out through his nose as the scalpel was lifted away from his now bloodied skin and placed back on the bench. He knew what was next, and he almost wished he didn’t, because no matter how prepared he thought he was, he just really wasn’t in any way. He poorly concealed a gasp of agony when the bullet forceps wiggled their way into the wound, opening around the bullet and slowly, pulling it back out again. The clink of the bullet falling into the kidney dish both relieved and sickened Peter, the worst of it was over, but that bullet had been lodged inside of him for what, a day now? That wasn’t ideal. Nothing about the situation he was in was ideal in any sense of the word.

He felt Ryan run the cotton swabs over the blood that pooled under his shoulder, shivering under his cold, pressing fingers. He wrinkled his face when the scent of his own metallic blood reached his enhanced nose and he clenched his fists as he felt Ryan dragging a swab directly over the already healing cut. He groaned and lifted his head up as the cut began to burn slightly with the prolonged exposure to the cotton swabs.

 

“See spider, that wasn’t too bad. At least not compared to the other tests we have to run today.” Peter pressed his cheek back down to the table, a sudden wave of exhaustion crashed over him. Ryan rolled the smaller table away with his foot, telling the guards to dispose of things and clean away the blood, making sure to keep the bullet for ‘the files.’ He walked back into the teens line of sight and Peter calmed slightly at being able to keep an eye on what he was doing. Ryan crouched in front of him, so they were face to face. His fingers, which still lingered with the smell of Peters blood, tilted his chin up from the table.

 

“What heals faster, bruises or cuts?” He asked, running a gentle finger over the darkening skin on Peter’s cheekbone, lightly prodding at the discolouration. When he took too long to respond, the fingers over his skin squeezed threateningly and Peter winced as his bruise was pressed on.

 

“Uh – it depends, on… on which is more serious I think.” Ryan frowned, ether unsatisfied with the answer or in thought. The pressure on Peter’s cheek released and he blew a quick breath out in relief.

 

“So, the cut will heal before the bruises will then?”

 

“Um, I think my body will use more energy on healing the cut, but the bruise will probably fade before the cut completely heals. B – because it’s not that serious.” Ryan let go of his cheek and stood, walking over to the doctors again. Peter let his head drop one more, his hearing trained on the hushed whispers behind him.

 

“I want to run the preliminary healing test now, no use in waiting for that cut to close up.” He heard mumbled replies, a few ‘yes sir’s’ and a quiet ‘I’ll get the tools sorted’ before he heard the smaller bench being filled with tools once again.

 

“What’s that? What do you mean ‘preliminary healing test?’” Peter’s voice was higher than he meant, and it gave away his fear, presenting his anxiety rather than his curiosity. Ryan strolled back over to him and Peter clenched his gut in worry.

 

“Anyone ever teach you not to eavesdrop Pete?” Ryan flicked his forehead and smirked as Peter flinches slightly at the crude touch. He opened his eyes again and frowned deeply, annoyed at how weak he felt, kicking himself for letting his fear show.

 

“It’s a bit hard not to when you have super hearing,” he said bluntly. Ryan thumped his hand down over Peter’s bullet wound, light enough not to cause more bleeding, but hard enough to hurt a fair amount.

 

“Don’t talk back,” he warned before walking behind Peter once again. He lifted his head and twisted his neck around to try and follow the man, but it aggravated his wounds and he gave up quickly. He let his head drop again and he focused on the sounds of tools being placed onto the table and the scribbling of pens on paper.

 

He forced his eyes back open, which he hadn’t realised he had closed, when he felt Ryan’s presence directly behind him again. He heard the snap of latex gloves and the familiar swipe of an antiseptic wipe run all the way over his back, starting over his shoulder blades and running down to his hips. That was a large area, almost his entire back.

 

“I’m starting off shallow and getting down to the deepest ones closer to the hips, where there’s less movement. Don’t fight and feel free to scream as much as you want it doesn’t matter, I soundproofed this lab a long time ago, for that reason.”

 

Peter felt a wave of nausea as his senses cried out in his skull, urging him to run, to fight while he still could. Despite every part of him screaming at him to get away, he couldn’t, the cuffs were too tight, and the table wouldn’t give underneath him, Peter was utterly and completely helpless. He was trapped, at Ryan’s mercy. The thought of giving the man the satisfaction of knowing he could, and would, eventually make Peter scream, made him feel sick. He felt his heart racing, heard his pulse thrumming wildly as the antiseptic wipe was discarded and a blade was dragged teasingly across his shoulders. It was light enough to not draw blood, but to make terror bubble deep within his core.

 

Peter refused to scream, he made a promise to himself that he would hold back any noises of pain for as long as he could. If not for himself then for his Dad, because he knew giving his captor the satisfaction of making him scream was also giving him more power over him. Ryan didn’t need anymore power over him right now. He was strapped to a damned metal bench, helpless. He felt like crying, he felt like fighting tooth and nail, he felt like calling for his Dad, begging to feel safe again. But he held all that back, because he wasn’t giving Ryan the satisfaction, not now, not ever.

 

He grit his teeth together as he felt the press of the blade on his shoulder. He focused on the feeling of his cheek pressed against the frigid metal bench beneath him. He estimated the cut was about and inch and a half, very shallow, bearable for the moment. Each new cut evoked the frantic noises of pens gliding over paper and it began to nag at Peter’s sanity. He counted ten cuts in total, each slightly deeper than the last that ran down his back, each of them just over an inch long. They spanned across his shoulders and Peter started to realise that despite how shallow the cuts were, the sheer amount of them chipped away at how much he could bear the pain. 

 

He bit the inside of his cheek as Ryan began on the second row, getting deeper and deeper with every slice of the blade. It must have been sharpened, Peter thought, because it was gliding across his skin and splitting it open without the need for much pressure. Ryan hummed from somewhere behind him, wiping the blade off on some cotton pads as blood began to soak the metal. Peter felt a second antiseptic wipe drag across his back, swiping up the slowly dripping blood that began to slide down his back in a stark contrast to his pale, quaking skin.

 

Ryan pressed on, carving into Peter’s flesh and making him press his teeth into his cheek to hold back the pained noises he wanted to make. As Ryan began a particularly harsh cut he choked back a yell, choosing instead to swear loudly.

 

“Fuck!” He immediately bit his tongue and pressed his forehead into the table, hiding his flushed face. To his surprise, Ryan stilled for a minute, running a gloved hand over his back slowly as if admiring the damage he had caused.

 

“That’s it Pete, it’s easier if you don’t hold back. We’re getting into the rough stuff now, so I’d suggest you just let go.” Peter sucked in a shaky breath and grinded his teeth together, pressing his nails into his palms as Ryan began the fourth row. The cuts were teetering on the edge of unbearable and Peter felt a lump in his throat forming again. As Ryan pushed on to the fifth row Peter couldn’t hold back his tears anymore, they cut trails down his cheeks, feeling hot against his chilled skin and dripping onto the table supporting him.

 

“Ah! Jesus… Fucking hell!” Peter yelped as the blade signalled the beginning of the sixth row. The gloved hands dug into his skin and he tried to focus on that, sniffling and trying to stop his tears.

 

“Shh, it’s okay – we’re almost done now, you can cry.” Peter hated how Ryan tried to console him, how he knew he was crying. Peter felt his resolve crumbling slightly, but he kept as quiet as he could, biting into his cheek so hard he could taste blood in his mouth. His breathing was unsteady and rapid as Ryan continued row six.

 

He stopped to clean Peter’s back again between the sixth and seventh row. The amount of blood was staggering, and it began to pool on the table, staining Peter’s torso as it dripped down. At some point during the seventh row Ryan asked for a longer scalpel, so he could carve deeper. Peter quickly began feeling lightheaded, from the blood loss or the pain he didn’t know. It made no difference to him, he thought weakly, passing out was probably the most ideal option for him right now. He tried to concentrate on the splashing noise his tears and blood made on the table, and as Ryan began the eighth row, he was teetering on the edge of consciousness.

 

He was barely aware of when Ryan finished the final row, all he knew was the agony, the white-hot pain that flared over his entire back. The bullet extraction wound felt insignificant, compared to how he felt now. As his tears fell, and Ryan placed a cold, damp sheet over his marred back to soak up the blood, he finally let himself fall into the black abyss that was sweet unconsciousness.

 

\----

 

Tony knocked back his fourth coffee of the night, or morning if you were pedantic about it. He winced at the bitterness and told himself he would cut back on the caffeine once Peter was back home safe. He swung around in his desk chair, his eyes circling around the room full of either sleeping or dutifully working Avengers.

 

Rhodey, Clint and Sam were taking their break on the couches, deep in their slumber. While Natasha and Steve tapped away at all camera footage in New York, only an hour away from their next shift change. Tony worked too, but he had refused to sleep or even take a break, the only times he stopped working or left his desk was when he was getting coffee or locking himself in the bathroom and fighting off a panic attack.

 

He couldn’t exactly help it, anytime he watched the alley footage and saw the bruised skin or looked into his sons wide and terrified eyes, all he could do was blame himself. How could he let his kid get cornered in an alley, hurt, kidnapped, not even a mile away from home? He was Iron Man, a Dad and he had promised to protect Peter, how could he fail him like this? Tony felt useless, he had done everything in his power and couldn’t think of any other way to get any closer to finding him. He had checked Peter’s phone and suit, which were both either destroyed or offline. He had combed through all the footage and recordings taken around the time and place Peter walked to school, even gone as far as hacking into some house cameras that were on the kid’s route. There was nothing, the only new thing he found was some footage of the two vans driving to get to the backstreets, but even they didn’t help at all, just provided a new angle.

 

He rubbed his hand through his hair and sighed loudly, biting his nail, deep in thought. He glanced at his watch, it was well past nine in the morning and he should at least sort everyone helping with food, but he couldn’t tear himself away from working. The more he worked, the quicker he could find his kid. He still hadn’t been able to shake the image of the broken and bloodied Peter from his nightmare, and the image haunted him. Tony thought, deep down, that if – when he found Peter, he could very well look like that, which is precisely what terrified him the most. He knew torture, kidnapping and ransom better than he’d like to, and he knew PTSD, nightmares and sleepless nights even more than that. He detested the idea that Peter might ever have to go through any of that like he had to.

 

The older Stark blew out a wobbly breath, moved his empty coffee mug to the side and began working feverishly again. The brightness of the screen illuminated Tony’s face, highlighting his dark under eyes and making his dark and mussed hair stand out against his pale skin. The light reflected his still slightly damp cheeks and shining eyes, his shaky, caffeinated hands shaking as he tapped away at the computer.

 

\----

 

Steve looked up from across the room, smiling slightly as he took note of the normally stoic Rhodey leaning against his hand, half-asleep. His eyes flashed over where Sam was doing the same, squished into the corner of the three-seater couch that Clint was sprawled out across, face shoved into the crook of his elbow. He turned to his left and watched Natasha type away at her computer, brow furrowed in concentration.

 

His half smile dropped into a look of concern and pity as he looked over at Tony. The Stark had just downed what must have been his fourth or fifth cup of coffee. His hair was tousled from the amount of times he had run a swift hand through it or tugged at it in annoyance. The soldier watched silently as Tony checked everyone with his eyes, either out of caution or concern – Steve didn’t know. He felt for the man, although he couldn’t exactly relate to losing a kid, he could understand the aspect of loss in general. He still remembered how he felt seeing Bucky fall from the train and how guilty he felt after that. He had the best hearing of the Avengers, aside from Peter he guessed, and Natasha was observant enough to pick up on the clues and figure out what Steve already knew was going on.

 

Every so often, excluding the times where he was getting coffee, Tony would excuse himself from the lab and head down the hall. Natasha caught on after the third time, but Steve could hear it from the start. Tony was locking himself in the bathroom and having panic attacks, or severe anxiety attacks, either way he was not coping at all. Cap didn’t know what to do, he gently suggested the mechanic take a break, maybe catch up on some sleep for an hour or two, but he had refused. Even when Rhodey had more than ‘lightly suggested’ the stubborn man shook him off and said he was fine, just worried. The man was splitting apart at his seams and just couldn’t deal without the kid, and his intense guilt complex was only making things worse.

 

Steve felt like all he could do was sit and watch his old friend break down. If he were a shitty person, maybe he would have let that happen, but no matter the two men’s past disagreement, he wasn’t going to allow Tony to crumble.

 

“Can you continue working, keep an eye on him while I sort some food out for everybody?” Natasha nodded curtly, glancing over at the captain before quickly assessing Tony, before darting her eyes back to her work. Steve stopped a few steps away from the man operating solely off caffeine and worry, leaving him plenty of space considering how uneasy he still was around them. He waited till he had the man’s attention before speaking calmly, keeping the worry out of his voice, knowing how much the Stark hated to be patronised.

 

“Hey, I’m heading to make breakfast for everyone, is it alright if I use the kitchen?” Tony opened his mouth in protest, but Steve knew exactly what he was going to say before he did. “Yes, you can keep working down here, but you still have to eat. You can type and chew quite easily. I’ll make you another cup while I’m at it.” He picked up the man’s cup and twirled it in his fingers, still waiting for permission to raid his cupboards.

 

“Hm? Yeah, okay that’s cool. Just don’t use any of the cereals, they’re… Uh – they’re for Peter.” Steve watched Tony’s face fall as he retreated into what must have been memories of the kid. He spoke softly, trying to make his words as comforting as possible.

 

“Of course, I’ll make some pancakes or something,” he took a slow step forward giving Tony plenty of time to move away if he was uncomfortable. “You know, we’re all here to help. We aren’t going to stop looking until we find him Tony, I can promise you that.” The mechanic turned around in his chair until they were facing each other, and Steve really noticed how tired the man before him looked. He had heavy bags under his eyes and his fingernails had been chewed away, he looked far less like the ‘genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist’ he had once claimed to be. Honestly, if Steve had to compare him to something, he would say he looked like the fathers who were terrified of their kids not coming back from war. That comparison made something inside him stir, an urge to protect and comfort his friend. He resisted the urge to place a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder, realising it was a bit too soon for physical contact. The last time they had touched was Siberia, but Steve quickly pushed that from his mind when Tony spoke again.

 

“Thanks Cap, I’m not planning on taking much of a break till he’s home anyway.” It was strange, to hear a man he thought he knew so well talk about the Tower as his and his child’s home. The fact Tony even had a kid surprised him enough, but hearing him talk about it so… normally, that was another thing. Regardless, he nodded and wandered out of the lab and to the kitchen.

 

\----

 

When Peter woke, he was no longer chained to the metal table, instead, he was sprawled on the tiled floor. He guessed he had only been out for a few minutes at most, because he saw one of the doctors cleaning the still bloody scalpel. That’s when he remembered what made him pass out in the first place, and that’s also when he realised why his back felt like it was more bloody wound than actual skin. He mumbled a few quiet swear words as he tried to roll further onto his front, to take the weight off his still sluggishly bleeding cuts.

 

He looked down at himself, noting how the skin around his wrists and ankles was raw and bruised. He still wasn’t wearing anything on his torso, and his jeans had obviously caught a few drops of blood on them. His cheekbone and temple throbbed and his head pounded in time to the rapid beat of his heart.

 

“Well, how long did that take huh? One experiment, just over an hour, before you passed out? Pathetic.” Peter snapped his head up at Ryan’s voice from across the lab. He was standing with the doctor who wasn’t cleaning, and holding a stopwatch in his hand, flashing the small display up to Peter before letting it drop back around the doctor’s neck. He staked towards the shivering teen, laughing darkly as he scuffled weakly away from him. Peter stopped when the buzz of his senses told him he was about to back into the wall and upset his injuries.

 

“Get a – away from me,” Peter demanded shakily, his voice quivering almost as much as his chilled body. Ryan only smirked wickedly as he moved closer to the boy.

 

“You aren’t exactly in the position to be making demands, are you spider?” He quirked an eyebrow and the cowering form below him, almost daring him to try not respond to the question. Peter only managed to open and close his mouth a few times, searching for words, before the man brought his foot down on his chest. The teen fell back, his arms slipping on the tile now slick with his blood. His back pressed into the floor painfully and he was unable to contain the small yelp of fright as his cuts were aggravated again. 

 

If anything, the pained cry only egged Ryan on, he pushed his weight down on the foot that was crushing down on Peter’s chest until the teen wheezed and frantically gripped his ankle. He clawed at the foot, trying to take as much weight off his chest as possible, feeling the cuts underneath him burn in agony again.

 

“S – stop, get off! I – I’m sorry, I’m not in the position to make demands.” Peter wasn’t begging, but he was beginning to comply, answering Ryan’s question without need for a second prompt. The man lifted his boot from the kid’s now heaving chest, and he immediately scrambled up into a sitting position, taking the force off his wounds. Ryan nodded at him, before turning on his heel and walking back over to the doctors, motioning for the guards to follow him. The men huddled in a tight cluster as Peter caught his breath and calmed his heart rate to a semi-calm state. He looked around the lab again, looking for something to defend himself with, or to find an easier exit point. There was nothing, all the tools were on the other side of the room, behind everyone, and the only exit was the same metal door they had entered in, which was now shut securely.

 

Peter let his eyes scan the room, roaming around the floor before coming to a stop on a large tub at the groups feet. He honed in his hearing and tried to catch what Ryan was saying, luckily the man didn’t try to conceal his voice too much.

 

“No, we can’t sedate him, it’ll skew the results for the experiment. You’re just gonna have to trust me when I say he’s too weak to fight off three of you right now.”

 

“Besides,” one of the guards spoke up, “if he gets too much to handle we can always just taser the little shit again.” Peter gulped when he heard that, his heart picking back up again.

 

“That won’t be necessary, but if he does fight too much you can do it. Just don’t let him pass out before the test again, I want him fully conscious for this or it’ll muck up the results.” Ryan ordered back, making Peter fidget in worry. “He’ll just get more compliant the more we test on him. I think he’s beginning to get it through his head that fighting just makes things tougher on him.” He didn’t know what the next experiment was, but he knew he didn’t want to become compliant for Ryan.

 

The circle turned toward him, regarding him carefully, like a piece of meat. He looked back with wide eyes, his mind racing as the guards trudged toward him and the doctors flipped through their notes as Ryan watched silently. Peter stilled as the men got closer, figuring he could try and run later, when they weren’t expecting it so much. He was gripped under the arms by two of them and the third jabbed at his neck to get him moving over to where the tub sat.

 

Peter let himself be guided over in front of Ryan, wincing as a swift blow to the back of his legs had him falling to his knees beside the tub. He looked down, expecting something sinister or cruel to be waiting, but it was just water. Somehow, that scared him more, because as his mind connected the dots and he remembered what his Dad had endured in Afghanistan, he realised water was just as terrifying as what he could have pictured. They were going to drown him.

 

“This won’t kill you, because we’ll pull you out once you lose consciousness.” Ryan spoke in a way as if his words were going to make Peter feel any safer, as if he could ease his nerves in any way. He felt his heart racing, his stomach leaped up into his throat, squeezing the lump that remained there in fear as his eyes stung. He looked up through his lashes at Ryan, silently begging for something to get him out of this situation as he felt two sets of hands clamping down on his shoulders securely.

 

“Wait! Wait, you don’t have to do this. I – I’m just a kid I’m not…” Ryan cut him off with a bark of laughter, he waved his hand dismissively as he replied.

 

“You aren’t seriously entertaining the idea that just because you’re a kid I don’t need data from you?” Peter stuttered at the question, trying to formulate a response quickly.

 

“I – uh, I don’t – I don’t know. Just, don’t do this.” Ryan rolled his eyes dramatically, flicking a look over his shoulder to confirm the doctors were ready, before nodding at the guards holding Peter’s weakly struggling body in place.

 

“Do yourself a favour and save your oxygen kid.” The hands pressed harshly on his shoulder, leaning him forward over the tub, only having slight trouble overpowering the teen. A third set of hands gripped his head, finding an easy handhold in his hair, before shoving Peter’s head under the surface of the water as the click of the stopwatch rang through his mind.

 

He jerked and struggled as much as he could, but all he managed was to increase the amount of blood still leaking from his back, and the water soon became a coppery red tinge. He felt it up his nose and the bubbles tickled his face as he frantically thrashed in the tub. He tried to cry out for them to stop, but all he succeeded in was getting a mouthful of metallic water.

 

After a minute and a half of fighting, his lungs started to burn, the urge to just breathe in became harder and harder to ignore. He was all out writhing against the hands now, shaking his head to try and dislodge the fingers holding his neck underwater. Another minute later and the need for air was becoming too overwhelming. When Peter hit the three-minute mark his struggled became weaker, his head span under the water as he scrunched his face up, trying desperately to focus on not breathing, rather than the burning in his chest. After four minutes he recognised the familiar grainy texture to his sight as the edges of his vision began to fade into a greyish black. Spots danced over his eyes and he pressed his eyelids shut, trying to overcome the sheer panic that was eating at his insides almost as painfully as the need to breathe.

 

At about six minutes, Peter decided that the only thing worse than running out of air, was breathing in water. He was about to pass out anyway, and some far away part of his mind remembering studying the medical reason for the body willingly sucking in while underwater. When someone is about to lose consciousness, there’s so much carbon dioxide in their blood and so little oxygen that the chemical sensors in the brain prompt the body to take in a completely involuntary breath, regardless if it’s submerged underwater or not. The last thing Peter thought of as he slipped away once more was that this must have been how his Dad felt in Afghanistan.

 

The teens body slumped and after a few seconds, Ryan called time. The guards pulled his slack body out of the tub and dropped the limp form onto the tiles, tilting his head and body to the side to allow the water to drain from his mouth and nose. The doctors clicked the stopwatch, noting down the time at 6:47. They raised their eyebrows, impressed at the spider’s lung capacity. Ryan kicked the form and, when he got no response, reached out and pulled the taser from one of the guards’ belts, jabbing it roughly into Peter’s ribs. He smiled sadistically as the kid came to, coughing and hacking out mouthfuls of water, gagging on it as it came back up from his throat. He sucked in massive breaths and rolled further to his side, expelling the liquid from his lungs painfully, relishing briefly in the feeling of air in his lungs.

 

“Holy shit” he heaved, steadying his shaking frame with weal arms, pressing his palms against the wet tiles. He shuddered, shivering violently as water dripped down from his wild and soaked curls. Ryan kicked the tub across the room, making Peter wince as the noise grated his sensitive hearing. He leaned down, tilting Peter’s chin up slowly, a smirk creeping over his lips.

 

“How was that Petey?”

 

“Not… exactly th – the most ideal” he replied quickly, coughing some more as Ryan released his chin, letting it drop to his chest. He hummed softly to himself as he scanned over the doctor’s notes, shooting quick glances down at Peter every few minutes.

 

He could feel himself trembling, his fingers shaking as he lifted them up to wipe away the excess water trailing down his face and neck. He whimpered quietly, tucking his face into his knees as he starved off an anxiety attack forcefully. Peter didn’t bother looking up as he heard Ryan whisper to the guard.

 

“Give him a small dose of the stuff so he’s out while we set up for the next few experiments.” Peter let the guard yank his head up from where it was buried in his knees, his hair being tugged painfully as the needle was jabbed into his flesh and everything melted away into pitch black.

\----

 

Steve finished off the last of the batter in the pan, placing the last pancake onto the large stack. He smacked at Clint’s hand with the spatula before dropping it into the dishwasher.

 

“Go wake up Rhodey and Sam, get Nat up here too and then you can eat,” he said, putting on a harder tone that he knew the archer saw through. Clint smirked and rolled his eyes, putting down the coffee jug. “What did I tell you about drinking from the machine, get a cup if you want coffee” Steve said, a small smile gracing his lips as he slid some spreads onto the table. 

 

“The coffee jug is a mug if you don’t give a fuck!” He heard Clint call over his shoulder as he headed back to the lab.

 

Once everyone was settled at the table and Steve had loaded up his own plate, he carried that, a cup of coffee and Tony’s plate back to where the man was still tapping away at his computer. The man was either so engrossed, or didn’t care when Steve walked in, because he didn’t even glance up from the screen.

 

“Here, eat this,” Steve said firmly, sliding the plate across to the man, knowing how he hated to be handed things. He also slid across the coffee, and Tony reached out for it and took a large swig before turning around in his chair. Their eyes met, and Steve was about to press on and urge the man to eat now, but Tony spoke first.

 

“Thanks Cap, for uh – for helping out and stuff.” He looked down at the plate, breaking eye contact and fiddling with the fork compulsively. Steve walked around him and sat in the chair not too far from him, setting his own plate down carefully before replying.

 

“You don’t have to thank me, I left you the phone in case of stuff like this. I’m just…” he swiped at eye before continuing hesitantly. “I’m just, really sorry you’re having to go through this. I know it must be horri…” Tony cut him off with a wave of his hand and spoke through a small mouthful.

 

“Yeah, it sucks and it’s a real shitty situation, but I’m just going to stay focused on finding him, rather than uh – talking it out over breakfast” he gestured at the two plates, “which thank you for, by the way.” Steve smiled sadly and nodded, taking a forkful of his own food before turning back to his computer and beginning to type and eat. “You’re going to stay and eat here in the lab?” Tony raised a curious eyebrow at him from over the rim of his coffee mug. He nodded when Steve signed that yes, he would be. The two men ate and worked in silence until everyone else came back down, wiping their mouths and expressing their thanks to Steve for the meal.

 

“I reckon it’s time for another switch, Tony you gonna take a break this time?” Rhodey sighed and rubbed his eyes tiredly when he shook his head stubbornly. “Fine, but you have to at some point soon” he said bluntly, sitting down on the chair next to him while Natasha and Steve laid down on the couches.

 

Sam, Clint, Rhodey and the determined Stark all worked diligently for another two hours before Tony began to feel the beginning of another attack gripping at his lungs painfully. An overwhelming sense of dread was rising in his chest as he excused himself from the lab, heading further down the hall into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. His heart palpitated as he saw images of a pale, lifeless Peter flashing behind his shut eyes. Tony couldn’t tell if he wasn’t able to breathe or if he was just hyperventilating, all he knew was he felt like anytime he sucked in he wasn’t getting any oxygen. His mouth felt dry and his throat burned as it felt like his windpipe was closing inside him. His chest hurt, his head pounded, and he felt like he was being choked. He felt tears run down his cheeks as he sunk to the floor, fighting the hot flushes and chills that rolled over his shaky body like a wave.

 

“Peter, oh god Peter.” He sniffled and gagged on his words as nausea hit him like a truck. He felt dizzy even as he pressed his back against the cabinet, the handles digging into his side keeping him somewhat grounded as he pushed through the panic attack. His stomach churned, and he shivered feverishly, looking out at the bathroom through a fish-eyed lens. He sobbed and sucked in huge lungful’s of air as he rode out the attack, alone on the bathroom floor. He gripped at his hair and muttered quiet apologies into the air as he imagined his son, alone in a cell, crying for his Dad. “I’m sorry baby, I’m so, so sorry. I’m coming, I’ll find you I swear.” His hands trembled as he balled his fists up and pressed them against his eyes harshly.

 

He eventually calmed his breathing and stood on wobbling legs, splashing cold water on his face before patting it dry again. He gave himself a weary once-over in the mirror, ignoring how his bags were so pronounced it looked like he had two black eyes, before heading back to the lab, downing the rest of his coffee hurriedly and resuming his typing on the computer. He payed no attention to how Steve and Natasha were awake now, propped up on the couch and fixing him with worried and pitying eyes.

 

\----

 

Peter was leaping off the roof, he was so close to the van if he just shot a web out he would land perfectly. His feet left the solid roof and he was in the air for a few seconds, so close.

 

“Surprise!” He yelled through his large smile, the feeling of the wind on his suit was one he would never get used to. His blissful optimism was cut very short as he felt something large and sharp rip him out of the air, slipping over his torso before tightening on his ankles. He let out a surprised shriek, he was too out of breath from sprinting and swinging across lawns to notice how his Spidey-sense had thrummed in his skull.

 

He was upside-down, his arms flailing uselessly below him as the world seemed to spin around him. Blood rushed to his head and he could see the solid ground of the streets getting further and further below him. He was so high, he had never been this high in his suit before. Sure, New York buildings were tall, there were skyscrapers he stuck to on the regular, but this felt so different. He was in suburban streets in Queens, there was nothing to stick to or swing from if he fell from this height.

 

“What the hell?” He cried, his words were whipped away with the winds blowing past him, a roar in his sensitive ears. He craned his neck and looked up, his body was being shaken around so much he couldn’t make out much of anything, but he thought he saw the flap of mechanical wings, and the fluorescent glow of green eyes staring down at him.

 

He didn’t know much, everything was happening so fast, but the only thought his mind could form was that he wanted out of these sharp metal talons before he got any higher. He kicked out at the metal that was wrapped around his ankle, hearing something snap with a loud, metallic crack. Before he could struggle anymore he heard something ringing in his ears and he barely recognised it as a beeping. He felt something in his back move, and then a weight was lifted from his suit, had it broken? Then, he was being yanked out of the claws and was free falling through the air, the lights of the world below him spinning and melting into a yellow black blur.

 

Peter’s body collided with the deployed parachute and he began to tumble towards the ground at break neck speed, the material wrapped around him and couldn’t catch any air. The parachute didn’t slow his descent. He caught a glimpse of the vulture-like creature silhouetted against the pale moon before the grey fabric of the parachute clouded his vision and he was trapped, wrapped tightly in a blanket of sure demise.

 

Every few second he saw light from the city, and each time he clocked them as closer then before. He began to fully panic, he was going to hit the ground, his bones were strong but even Spider-Man couldn’t survive a fall from this height. Peter remembered when his Dad fell from a similar height, encased in his Iron Man suit, thankfully he had lived, sustained a bit of damage but nothing serious. But the Spider suit wasn’t made out of the nickel-titanium alloy that his Dad’s suit was, and it couldn’t prevent his sure death.

 

When Peter felt his body hit the concrete, it seemed to swallow him whole. He felt cold and he couldn’t breathe at all, he saw the parachute flow around him, it looked like silk underwater. Underwater? Had he fell in water? He began to struggle, he was in water, he was alive. He felt like he had hit the pavement and his back burnt like hell from the impact, but he was okay. For now, all he had to do was find and break the surface of the water. Easier said than done. He was drowning, the parachute was still wrapped around him and from the force of the hit, Peter wasn’t exactly sure which way was up, which way to swim. He kicked out and punched at the fabric, hating the way he could feel his suit mask absorbing the water. As his strength weakened and his lungs screamed for air, he thought briefly this must be what water-boarding feels like. 

 

It was so, so dark, and he still felt like he was falling, just a lot slower and in a direction, he didn’t know. The material was stuck to his suit and he couldn’t stretch his arms of legs enough to swim. His eyes fell shut and he let the darkness swallow him.

 

\----

 

Peter wished when his memory ended he would wake up the same way he had in the dream, in his Dad’s comforting hold. But the metal around him wasn’t the Iron Man suit carrying him across the surface of the lake, it was the chilling bite of the cuffs, locking him to the same metal bench. The same emotionless eyes of the doctors watched him, the same ready stance of the three guards surrounded him, and the same sickening hand running over his face was back, attached to Ryan, the practical bane of his existence.

 

Peter shook his head, regretting the movement as the room swung around him and the fingers curled in his hair tightened till his eyes watered. He let his eyes fall shut, too exhausted to fight, or even struggle with his restraints. All he could do was let the cold touch of the metal on his wounded back and the glaring lights above him lull him into submission as Ryan cooed gently above him, saying something about how compliance benefits them both.

 

He exhaled through his nose, his eyes rolling back into his skull as he listened half-heartedly to the scratch of the doctor’s notes and the clanging of metal tools on metal benches. As he felt the recognizable sensation of antiseptic wipes on his torso, and the agonising burn of the scalpel cutting into his flesh, he willed himself to fall back into his dark sleep. His lips quivered, and he felt hot tears drip down his cheeks and fall past his temples, into his curls as the blood rolled down his sides in time to the skilful digging of metal in his cuts.

 

Ryan dragged the blade across the teens hip bone, running the clinical tool over and over the same skin until he met bone. His eyes flickered up to the boy’s face and he smiled to himself when he saw it was scrunched in pain, tears rolling down the poor spider’s face and mixing with the blood on the metal bench he was strapped to, like a twisted watercolour artwork. He loved the way the boy was trying so hard to hold back his screams, the more he did that, the sweeter and more rewarding it would be when he finally managed to break him.

 

Ryan craved and longed for two major moments with any new subject he had the opportunity to experiment on. The moment when they finally broke down and screamed and begged for him to stop, and the moment where they finally realised that they weren’t going to make it, they weren’t going to survive this chapter of their lives. When they looked up at him with tear stained eyes and begged for their life, pleading and bargaining with him.

 

Something about Peter was different, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he was a trained hero who went out and saved people on a regular basis as opposed to the messed up mutant freaks he would find on the streets. It had something to do with his mentality, how much hope he had, how much positivity he saw in the world, how he refused to kill. It was naïve, stupid and probably related to how young he was. The rest of his subjects had all been older than the sixteen-year old, but none of them had the same fire that he seemed to. In fact, almost all of them just cowered in fear and did as they were told for fear of causing themselves more pain, but not Peter. The teen hadn’t cowered, he had looked Ryan directly in the eye and told him to go fuck himself, he was relentlessly fighting and snarking back, it was refreshing, and Ryan knew it would just make breaking him that much sweeter.

 

Ryan wiped away the blood that was trickling down the wound from Peter’s hip with another antiseptic wipe before pulling on a pair of gloves. Peter opened his eyes as he felt Ryan leaving his side for a second, he sniffled quietly and watched with glassy eyes as the man picked up a small surgical instrument with jagged teeth that lined the blade. He pressed his eyes shut and spoke over the growing lump in his throat, his voice cracking and breaking as he pushed the words out.

 

“W – what are you doing to me… what is th – that?” Ryan smiled, glad the boy could voice his curiosity.

 

“This is a type of bone saw, it’s made specifically for this type of surgery. I’m performing an open bone biopsy and a bone marrow biopsy on your hip bone Pete. I’m removing and collecting a sample of your bone marrow and the outer layers of your bone, to look for abnormalities in your structure.” Ryan grinned and ran a hand over the trembling teens collar bone slowly, trying to calm him. “Hey, shh… it’s alright, I promise it won’t take as long as the preliminary healing test.” Peter let his head drop back to the table, squeezing his eyes back shut as more silent tears slid down his face.

 

He whimpered as he felt Ryan hacking away at his bone with the serrated tool. The sound was almost worse than the pain, it grated in his ears and bounced around the lab along with Peter’s soft whimpers and hitched breaths. He bit into his lip to stop from crying out, but he was so tired and so consumed by the sensation of Ryan cutting through cartilage and extracting layers upon layers of his bone and its marrow. He thumped head against the table and sobbed loudly, biting back his cries. Tears ran steadily down his cheeks and he heard the slight squelchy noise his blood made as it clung to the hole in his hip and the rough saw.

 

“Hold his head still till he stops hitting it, we don’t want brain damage do we Petey?” Peter sobbed as large hands held his head still, a palm coming to rest over his forehead and under his neck. Ryan seemed to take his time, and Peter’s body refused to let him fall into unconsciousness, no matter how badly he wanted to escape the pain. The surgery took three quarters of an hour and when Ryan finally tugged out the last fragment of Peter’s hip bone, he wiped the bloodied area surrounding the wound and patted Peter’s cheek softly, running a finger over his still bruised cheekbone.

 

“Hey spider, you did good during that, cried nicely. Just let the doctors clean up a bit then all that’s left for today is another two surgeries on your shoulder and knee then I’ll show you back to your updated cell. Does that sound good Pete?” His voice was mockingly sweet and praising, like he was proud of how Peter let his tears fall. It made the sick feeling in his stomach grow. There was a beat while the teen remembered to reply to direct questions, before he took a shuddering breath and managed a meek nod.

 

“Can – can I have anaesthetic for the n… next two?” Ryan almost gave in, almost crumpled and let the boy have the drugs, just because the sound of his wreaked, decrepit voice was like music to his ears. But he held steady and shook his head slowly, running a hand through the teens soft curls, rubbing at his scalp as he replied.

 

“Remember this morning, when you called me and my operation stupid, then said fuck you?” Peter swallowed nervously as the fingers in his hair became minutely rougher, “this is your punishment.” Ryan smirked darkly, removing his hand from Peter’s curls and sliding it down the table to rest at the boy’s right knee. Somehow, the biopsy hurt more on his knee and shoulder than his hip had. His body finally gave up on dealing with the agony some time into the last surgery, after he had run out of tears and he just trembled and shook with racking sobs.

 

\----

 

He dreamed of his Dad, of his warm embrace and calloused hands brushing through his hair, his throat humming careful murmurs of safety and promises and home. In his dream he wasn’t bloodied or bruised or holding himself together for fear of breaking, he didn’t have to hold back screams or try and cover his tears as he felt his Dads strong, steady arms wrapping around him and pulling him closer.

 

Peter floated in the delusion that he was safe again, that he was with his Dad, and the unspoken promise of protection wasn’t false.


	6. Cell and Photographs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is introduced to his new cell, Tony finally takes a break and Ryan's intellect is showcased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I'm actually really glad I got this up this week because I've just started exams and studying is tireless work.  
> I want to thank everybody who commented on the last chapter, you really inspired me to actually get the next chapter out and gave me the confidence for some more whump.  
> I also want to shoutout the same friend as last week, because bouncing my idea's off you is extremely helpful Athena ~ uwu ~
> 
> Please, please, please continue commenting and I hope you like this chap! I made it just a bit longer than chapter 5.

Steve’s eyes drifted open slowly. He blinked away the remnants of his sleep and sat up carefully on the couch, his muscles groaning slightly in protest of being in the same cramped position for so long. His eyes flickered around the room, Natasha was taking slow sips of water on one of the couches, eyes cast to a stark pad resting in her lap. Rhodey, Sam and Clint were sat at the computers, Tony’s chair was surprisingly empty for once, and as Steve strained his hearing he couldn’t hear the man shut in the bathroom, starving off another attack.

 

“Rhodey, did you finally get Tony to take a break?” He asked hopefully, scratching the back of his neck as he stretched on the couch. The other man turned in his chair, shaking his head a solemn ‘no.’ Steve sighed and opened his mouth to ask where he was but Rhodey interrupted.

 

“He went to his room for a bit, not sure what he’s doing but I’m sure it’s something productive” he spoke through an exaggerated eye roll. Steve nodded and checked the time, he should organise food, he thought idly. A minute later, he was stepping into the hallway and speaking with much hesitation.

 

“Uh – F.R.I.D.A.Y?” He addressed the AI cautiously, not certain how exactly do work the newer system but assuming the basics.

 

“Yes, Captain Rodgers?” The female voice replied immediately.

 

“Can I order food… through you?” He wasn’t sure through was the right word, he figured he should have said with you or something similar. Nevertheless, the AI assured him he could, and listed off a few of the regular places that were ordered from. It hit Steve then, that the options were probably suggested because of what Tony and Peter ate. He could imagine Tony getting home from a mission and ordering takeout out of sheer laziness, but he found it harder to picture the man getting food for himself and his child.

 

Pushing away the thought, Steve poked his head back into the lab, gaining everyone’s attention. “Hey guys, what does everyone feel like eating?” He smirked when Clint called an extremely eager demand for pizza, looking back at the room to gauge their reaction to the suggestion. Natasha shrugged, unbothered either way, while Sam and Rhodey nodded without too much care. “Alright, pizza it is then, I’ll just check with Tony.”

 

He walked to the Stark’s room, his thoughts drifting to where Peter’s room must have been. He couldn’t help but continually think of the teen, the fact that his friend had hidden something so big like a kid from him for so long, was just… thought provoking and question prompting. He briefly wondered how the man had dealt with having a superhero son, how much extra worry that must have been for a parent. He still remembered the first time he had spoken with Peter, and he smiled to himself as he reminisced the anxiety and energy that had practically rolled off the boy in waves.

 

\----

 

Peter dropped his bag next to the counter and pulled open the cupboard, swaying and bouncing on his heels lightly as he craned his neck to see any possible snacks. He leaned forward on his tiptoes and pulled down a box of cereal, swinging the door shut with the back of his foot as he expertly grabbed a bowl and spoon from the other cabinets. He could do this with his eyes closed, the boy and his Dad hadn’t changed the kitchen around in about a decade. He pushed the fridge closed, the milk bottle rattling slightly as he grabbed his snack and pulled his bag over his shoulder, making his way to the labs with his Dad in mind.

 

Steve had been sitting quietly behind Tony, balancing his sketchbook on his knee. He had read somewhere that drawing new objects could help improve his skill, and he didn’t often draw any mechanical items. The Stark’s lab had plenty of mechanical objects to choose from, and the man had happily obliged to let Steve sketch quietly behind him, making some joke about him barely being better company than his robots. Both men had worked in moderate silence, but it hadn’t been uncomfortable quiet, it had been an easy silence. The white noise of Tony’s tinkering was oddly calming to Steve, and the footsteps he could hear from down the hall peeked his interest. He quirked his head up before Tony heard the footfalls.

 

When the mechanic had heard them, he visibly straightened in his chair, looking almost agitated. Did the footsteps belong to someone he didn’t agree with? He stood from his chair as Steve put down his pencil carefully, as to not smudge his work as he lightly closed the book. Tony stood and angled his body, so he could see both the doorway and the other man in the room.

 

“Cap, how’s that drawing coming along?” He said quickly, his voice louder than normal. His eyes darted to the door, as if he could hear the footsteps waver at the words. Steve heard the steps hesitate and then shuffle forward again, and his curiosity perked at who was about to walk into the lab. Tony stepped forward and smiled widely as the owner of the footsteps wandered cautiously into the lab.

 

To Steve’s surprise, it was a meek looking teen, holding a bag and a bowl of cereal. The boy’s eyes flicked from Tony to the man behind him, a small, shy smile gracing his lips. The kid adjusted the bag further onto his shoulder and looked down at his feet timidly, his cheeks flushing a soft shade of pink.

 

“Pete, meet Captain America,” Tony clapped the boy on the back encouragingly as he gestured to the man as he stood and extended a hand. “Cap, meet Peter… My intern.” The boy in question looked up from the floor, his eyes widening slightly at the offered hand, before switching the bowl into his other arm and grasped the hand eagerly. He looked awestruck, but Steve didn’t miss the way his eyes still darted back to Tony every so often. They dropped their hands and Peter stepped back, unconsciously seeking out his Dad again, but Steve didn’t notice it as he spoke.

 

“Nice to meet you kid, you working for Tony, huh?” He asked curiously, smiling at the boy who looked up at him as if he couldn’t really believe who he was meeting.

 

“Uh, y – yeah, I’m just the intern.” The boy stuttered quickly, gripping the cereal between his shifting palms. He twisted one of his feet, always moving something Steve noted. The kid’s energy reminded him of Tony’s, always bouncing, tapping and playing with something distractedly.

 

“The intern? I hope Tony’s paying you well” he said jokingly, attempting to offset some of the teens nervous vibes. The corner of Peter’s lips turned upwards as he placed the bowl down on the mechanics desk carefully.

 

“That’s for you Mr. Stark” he turned back to Steve and replied happily “he’s paying me well and I enjoy working regardless – gets me experience y’know?” He tapped his temple, his finger brushing a loose curl off his forehead carelessly. Tony smirked behind him, watching the kid with something akin to, what Steve recognised as, fondness. Steve eyed the two, watching as Tony thanked the boy for the snack and asked if he needed help with anything before walking him to the door and murmuring quietly.

 

“I’ll be done in here soon, you can uh…” his eyes shifted back to Steve briefly before he continued speaking, “you can finish with the papers and head home when you’re ready.” He fixed the teen with a lingering gaze, his eyes presumably saying something Steve didn’t bother to interpret. The boy bobbed his head in an okay before saluting and backing out of the room with a “thanks Mr. Stark” falling from his lips.

 

Tony slipped back into his chair after the kid had trotted further down the hallway. He opened his mouth as if to speak before turning back around to continue tinkering. Steve said and thought nothing more for a few minutes before the man turned back around in his chair.

 

“Thanks” he said evenly, still fiddling with some pieces of metal that Steve didn’t understand. He raised an eyebrow at the man.

 

“For what?” He asked.

 

“Don’t know, being nice to m – the kid?” Steve nodded in understanding and opened his book back up again, picking up his pencil and flipping to the right page.

 

“Don’t mention it, he seems nice. I didn’t know you had an intern program.” Tony’s brow creased in thought for a second before he replied.

 

“Oh, I don’t. It’s just the kid, he’s… he’s smart and damn helpful.” He looked down at his hands, still fiddling with the metals. “Plus, Pep adores him, so there’s that.” He smiled down to himself again, affection buried in his eyes. Steve smiled too, glad his friend was content.

 

“He must keep you young” the Captain teased lightly.

 

“What do you know about young, Mister ‘I don’t know how to work a proper phone.’” They both chuckled and went back to their work, Tony’s mind drifting to his kid and wondering if he would head over to his friends or just camp out in his room like normal.

 

\----

 

Steve let his smile fall as he heard Tony’s hurried, pacing footfalls trod from within his room. He knocked softly, making sure not to startle the man who was clearly on-edge. The door clicked open and Tony stood, pushing his phone into his pocket.

 

“Sorry to interrupt, I just came to ask how you feel about calling for pizza?” The mechanic in the doorway relaxed slightly, running a hand through his hair.

 

“Sounds good, need me to order it?” Steve shook his head, he was confident enough to talk to F.R.I.D.A.Y and figure out how to. “I was just about to head back to the labs, I was just… making a phone call.” His expression looked forlorn and he seemed extremely out of it, and Steve was filled with an urgency to comfort the distressed man.

 

“Tony…” he began, unsure of how to console the man without coming across as insensitive. He took a breath and began again, “Tony, I know this situation is hard to deal with and you blame yourself, which you shouldn’t, but the lack of sleep or rest isn’t going to help find Peter. I don’t know the kid well but from what I gather, he wouldn’t want you to become sleep deprived to the point of collapsing from exhaustion.” He eyed the tired man carefully, hoping he hadn’t crossed the line with speaking about Peter.

 

“I can’t stand the thought of doing nothing. I won’t be able to sleep knowing he’s out there, going through god-knows what.” Steve exhaled through his nose patiently, shifting his weight onto his other foot.

 

“Overworking yourself is going to hurt more than help. Besides, everyone else will be working while you rest, the only reason I’m not working now is because I’m sorting food for everybody who is.” He managed a sympathetic smile, wishing he could get through to the stubborn man.

 

“I’ll have pizza and work till its dark and then I’ll take a small break – only to get you off my back” Tony said, a small hint of humour in his voice as he slid past Steve and began to head back to the lab.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y? Can you order a pizza?”

 

“Of course, which restaurant, type and quantity do you request?” Steve listed off what he figured everyone would want before walking back to where Tony was now working heavily.

 

\----

 

Peter felt extremely hazy when his eyes blinked open. His head felt like it was being drilled open, the migraine pounded in his skull and he felt sick. Ryan’s face swam slowly into focus above him and he vaguely realised that his lips were moving because he was talking.

 

“pider – Spider? C’mon be a good boy, open those eyes Pete. You wanna see your cell, don’t you?” Peter blinked, and his mind scrambled to find some semblance of a reply before he was punished. His throat made a scratchy whining noise as he tried to push words out, he coughed, and his head disliked the movement. The noise wasn’t enough, and Peter barely had time to flinch before Ryan’s eyes hardened as he placed his hands on the teens chest and abdomen, pushing down with enough force to make Peter’s still raw back press against the metal of the table. He cried out as his wounds flared, everything came rushing back and hit him with what seemed like the force of a truck.

 

He remembered the sensation of the bullet being tugged out of his shoulder, the feeling of the scalpel slicing rows upon rows along his back. Then, he recalled his own tears, mixing on the table with his blood as Ryan sawed into his bones, the noises of his own sobs mixing with the grating of the tool as his hip, knee and shoulder were brutally operated on. He felt sick, his face burned when he thought about how he must have looked, whimpering and crying on the bench. Peter wanted his Dad, he didn’t want to see whatever Ryan had done to his cell, he just wanted to go home and curl up in his Dad’s arms.

 

“Answer the question,” Ryan urged angrily, shoving Peter down more forcefully before stepping back to wait for a reply.

 

“No, not r – really. I’d rather just go home if that’s cool.” He closed his eyes, expecting a blow from the man above him. He tensed as he felt fingers press down on his bruised cheekbone, a thumb ran over the jutting bone, prodding the sensitive skin harshly.

 

“I want you to remember when you say bratty shit like that, because then, when you cry and ask for anaesthetic you can use the memory of the pain to shut up next time.” Peter stared blankly at the ceiling, too tired to do or say anything. He thought briefly about wiggling around his chains again, but instead his mind drifted to the deep soreness that seemed to radiate through his whole body. He felt very odd, like he was just now realising the severity of the situation he was in. Peter could die here, he could be killed, he might never see his Dad again. He might never get to hang out with MJ and Ned or fight with the avengers or hug his Dad or annoy Happy and show Pepper his science project. He may never eat pizza with his Dad on the couch, a movie buzzing in the background lulling him to sleep. He could never put his suit on again and do patrol or feel the wind or swing from buildings or save someone.

 

There was an actual probability that Peter would die here, alone, without even getting the chance to say goodbye. If that happened he wouldn’t graduate, wouldn’t go to college or get a job, and the idea of that was terrifying. He faced more danger than a regular teen, than any regular person, but he always figured he would die as Spider-Man, saving the city or world or universe, or maybe just old age. He never really considered the possibility that he could die as Peter Parker. The only times he’d ever really thought about this was when he was under the building during the Vulture incident.

 

He stayed quiet while the guards unattached his restraints from the table. He kept his gaze focused on the floor when they stood him up and the room swung, the edges of his vision greyed out as the pain in his knee screamed in protest under his weight. As they pushed him back into a sitting position on the bench he heard one of the doctors speaking quietly to Ryan.

 

“Perhaps we should wheel him back to his cell on the table, so he doesn’t pass out on us again.” He didn’t know how to feel about that, he liked the freedom of not being chained to the table. It gave him the option of fighting, not that he was going to try and run, he wouldn’t be able to with the amount of injures he had, but the idea of being secured to the bench again made his skin crawl. The main thing that upset Peter about the situation was that he was helpless, there was nothing he could do. If Ryan decided to kill him, to strap him to the table again, to experiment more, there was nothing Peter could do to stop him.

 

“No, he can get back to his cell without passing out,” Ryan replied to the doctor with ice in his tone. Peter may have actually thanked him for not putting back on the table, if he weren’t the world’s biggest psychopath and asshole rolled into one. He turned around to face Peter, a fire in his eyes despite the chill in his voice “if you pass out I’ll break a few ribs while you’re out.” He nodded hastily, remembering how he felt when the building collapsed on him, it had hurt badly, especially when he breathed, so he could only take very shallow breaths.

 

‘I definitely shouldn’t be walking with my knee after that surgery but forgive me if I’m not all that eager to experience broken ribs again.’ Peter thought grimily, opting to keep the words to himself for fear of being hurt again. Ryan slipped the same burlap sack over his head again, and although it helped filter out the harsh light, Peter hated the deprivation of his eyesight.

 

The guards hoisted him to his feet again and he was purely horrified to admit that he reluctantly let the guard on his right take some of the weight off his knee. The wound began to sluggishly bleed, blood dripping slowly and uncomfortably down the front of his shin, blemishing the painfully white tile below him. He took a sharp inhale through his nose and bit the inside of his cheek, where the skin was still raw, as his leg fully extended. He could practically feel where Ryan had removed part of the bone, but that was most likely his imagination – or similar to placebo effect. The room tilted again as he was pulled forward, and he slackened slightly in the guards’ grip, but they held him up and he pushed through the nausea and light-headedness in favour of not passing out.

 

Peter tried his best to keep as much weight off his right leg as possible, but it was hard to do so when the guards were pushing him from behind and Ryan was marching off ahead of them. His breathing became more laboured as the effort to stay conscious and ignore the pain became more difficult. He could feel his own breath against his face from under the sack, and he thought it smelt slightly coppery, metallic like his own blood. He coughed, and his chest felt uncomfortably tight, like someone had a hand wrapped around his lungs and was beginning to squeeze. He moaned at the combined pain of his chest, knee, hip, shoulder, back and head. The noise was muffled from under the burlap and one of the guards dug his nails into where he was holding Peter’s bicep, it left small crescent shaped indents in his skin.

 

They turned once more and then the gripping arms yanked him into a rough stop, jolting his knee mid step and making him bite back another pained cry. He closed his eyes and allowed the guards firm grip to keep him somewhat upright while he tried to catch his breath and steady his breathing. He heard footsteps from somewhere in front of him moving closer and he instinctively tensed, preparing for a blow that didn’t come. Instead, the burlap sack was pulled off his head and he blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light in the hallway.

 

“Ready for your updated cell, Spider?” He swallowed against the lump in his throat, coughed as his chest flared in pain again and then managed a weak, unconvincing ‘yes’ before Ryan was pushing open the door.

 

The first thing Peter noted was the cold. It hit him hard as he was ushered through the doorway, and it stung his eyes and sinuses as he sucked in a shallow breath. He shivered as the chill pricked against his bare chest and worry settled deep in his gut at a realization. He spun around and looked at Ryan with fear laced deep in his brown eyes.

 

“H – how did you know?” Ryan’s face was painted with a self-satisfied smirk as he replied evenly.

 

“What? That spiders can’t easily regulate their temperature and are cold blooded? Or that I knew it would affect you more than it would others?” Peter opened his mouth before shutting it again, looking down at the ground as Ryan pressed on, tauntingly. “The fact of the matter is, I didn’t. I wasn’t sure if you would react the same way as a spider, but it didn’t really matter if you did, because at this temperature it would still affect a normal person.” The way he said ‘normal person’ was degrading, and almost dehumanizing to the now shivering teen.

 

Peter scanned the room and was surprised to see that not much had actually been changed. The things he noticed were the cuffs and chains that hung from most of the walls, at varying heights and lengths and sizes. He assumed most were for his wrists and ankles, but a few of the metal pieces looked like they were for his neck, eerily resembling that of a collar, which made the lump in his throat squeeze in fear. There were two video cameras in opposite corners of the ceiling and what he assumed to be microphones were attached to them. There were speakers high on each wall of the room and there were a few metal cords that snuck around and snaked their way into the lights, there were several sprinklers on the ceiling along with them. Peter barely had the chance to think about how that was definitely an electrocution hazard when he felt his right knee give way from underneath him.

 

At first, he thought it had the weakened knee had finally given under his weight, but the back of his knee hurt too. His leg bent forward as his body careened into the floor, and he realised the back of his bad leg had been kicked roughly. He cried out in pain as the injured and weak knee had crashed into the hard, unforgiving tile. He clutched at the now bloodier and agonisingly painful appendage and desperately willed the pain to subside. He moaned as a hand gripped his bad shoulder and shoved him further to the floor, so the scalpel wounds covering his mangled back were pressed relentlessly into to freezing tile.

 

It felt like he was being pinned down to a slab of ice, and it was so cold it felt like burning, he could feel the fiery heat of the numb cold seeping through his wounds and into his bones. He was about to groan or whimper or cry out or moan but an aggressive hand came up and covered his mouth, the thumb resting on the side of his nose for balance and the fingers wrapping around the side of his bruised cheek. He let out a muffled cry of protest as the hand squeezed down on his nose, effectively cutting off all of his breathing passageways with a single hand.

 

Peter grasped and tore at the hand feebly, his strength weakening as quickly as his need for air was increasing. He wasn’t entirely sure if it was the force of falling on his back, lying flat on the ground, or the burn for oxygen, but Peter began to feel like he was suffocating and drowning again, like there was still water filling his lungs and flooding his windpipe. He continued to scrabble flimsily with the strong grip, he scratched with his nails, which only succeeded in the tightening of the pressure the man was putting on his bruised cheekbone. His eyes flew open and flailed around frantically before locking onto Ryan’s cold, calculating, sickeningly fascinated ones above him.

 

Ryan wasn’t sure, but he thought the eyes looked pleading, as if the weak and helpless boy trapped under his hand was begging. The mere idea that the teen’s eyes were silently begging him made a pleasant chill tingle through his spine. ‘That much closer to breaking – to screaming’ he thought to himself. When Ryan looked into his eyes and saw the absolute, unprecedented, pure fear and terror and panic in them, he felt a surge of power rush though him. He pressed his palm down further, narrowing his eyes as he mumbled to himself – and to the kid in a way.

 

“See Peter – I told you that you were just a pathetic, weak, kid.” Ryan watched as the struggle and fight slowly leaked out, along with his strength to stay awake. “I’m gonna make you scream and pick you apart until I have everything I need – then I’ll make sure your ‘Dad,’ doesn’t even find a body salvageable enough for an open-casket funeral.”

 

Tears slipped down the barely conscious teen’s face and his eyes rolled back into his skull, eyelids sliding shut as his resolve to fight it faded. Just as he was about to spin into the land of haunting nightmares, the hand released, and he could breathe again. Or – he would have been able to if his lungs cooperated. Peter jolted to the side, coughing violently as he tried to get a single, steady breath. He hacked and choked, his wobbly arms barely keeping him propped up on his side. Ryan didn’t bother to help, just took a step backward and watched him with curious eyes. Eventually, Peter coughed up frothy and blood-streaked saliva, which splattered against the tile and laid, stark against the pure white of the tile.

 

“Oh – oh… god” he murmured, his gaze fixed on the diluted blood he had just coughed up. What the hell was going so wrong inside his body that he was coughing up blood? His mind flicked through all the possible causes for what was happening to him, infection, problems in the blood vessels, the lungs themselves? Did he just bite his cheek too hard? He gently prodded around at his gums in search for any bleeding wounds, and the skin was tender, but not bad enough to bleed.

 

Peter was tugged from his health concern spiral when Ryan moved forward again, doing nothing to slow his movements even as he flinched away from the man’s touch. He wiped the tears from under the boy’s eyes and cupped his chin gently. The contrast between suffocating the teen and practically stroking his face was almost as strong as the contrast between Peter’s crimson blood against the glaring tiles. He curled away from the touch and whimpered as it followed him, tugging at his chin and running a soft finger along his jawline and mottled cheekbone.

 

“P – please. St…op, I – I don’t…” Ryan cut off Peter’s plead with a hush before pulling back his hand and bringing it down again with a swift and precise slap. He smiled darkly as a cry of pain echoed though the newly updated cell.

 

“Did I speak to you then?”

 

“What? I – I don’t…” Peter trailed off before looking up and seeing a wrath fuelled glare in the man’s eyes, threatening him. “No – no you didn’t” he finished quietly.

 

“Then do not speak.” Ryan put emphasis on each word, drilling the point into the shivering teens mind. Peter nodded, hating how he was just giving in and complying for the sake of avoiding more pain. His cheeks flushed as he thought of what his Dad would think if he saw him right now, huddled on the floor, coughing up blood and begging for his captor to stop, to please stop. God, he really was pathetic.

 

\----

 

Tony stood in the light warehouse, his hands shaking as he took an unsteady step towards the unmoving figure curled on the ground. The hunched form was blue and purple and was covered in speckles of red blood, the only thin breaking up the horrible galaxy of bruises was the small fraction of unnaturally white, pale skin that shone through in-between wounds. He kneeled in front of the body, reaching a hand forward only to pull it back as if he had touched dry ice, because what he felt was so, so cold it hurt his fingers.

 

“P – Peter?” The trembling man waited for the head to move, for the mop of brown curls to flop as his kid rolled over and smiled at him – perhaps begging for five more minutes of sleep before he had to get up. But nothing happened, nothing moved at all, the teen before him stayed silent and still, like the corpse he so obviously was. But he ploughed on, pressing his warm hands over the frozen arms, the chilled neck, the lifeless face. The head moved when Tony ran a hand along his cheek, it fell to the side. The older Stark’s eyes met the glazed, empty, staring ones of his kid and a choked sob escaped his lips as he lied to himself that Peter was fine.

 

“Pete – c’mon buddy, get up baby. Peter? Time to get up, you can’t nap on the floor.” His voice wobbled as he continued to deny the situation, because his child was fine, he was. “I promise, you can take all the naps you want when we get home Pete. Come on, time to move, time to come home with me. For me…” Nothing. Nothing at all. “Peter?” He leaned forwards, resting his forehead on the boy’s cool chest. He continued to mumble things aloud, asking his kid to get up, to move, smile, blink, raise his torso with a breath.

 

The corpse was almost as cold as what Tony’s heart felt when he realised it was just that, a corpse.

 

He fell forward and his head hit the floor of the grey warehouse. He reached his arms out and when he couldn’t feel the body anymore a small flicker of hope ran through him before he looked up. Had he moved? When he brought his eyes up the flicker burnt out as he realised the body hadn’t moved, it had just disappeared. He turned around desperately, swinging his eyes around the empty warehouse, a silent plea echoing through his mind. ‘Please, please Peter don’t leave me all alone here – I can’t do it without you… I can’t deal if you’re gone.’

 

He collapsed to the floor, his chest heaving with breaths that should have been Peter’s. His son should be the one breathing, living, not a cold, dead body on the floor of an abandoned warehouse. He hit the floor with his fists, dust floating up into the air and swirling around the grief filled, mourning man on the floor, curled up where his son’s body had been moments before. A twisted experience of bitter irony that may have made him laugh acidly, if he wasn’t too preoccupied with the tears escaping his haunted eyes.

 

There was a sudden bang that reverberated around, bouncing off the walls and ceilings, making the genius on the floor jump and snap his head up. When he looked up, his eyes fell on the knarred, hunched, broken forms of his child. They surrounded him, hundreds of them filling the warehouse floor in various stages of decay and death. Some of the versions of Peter were still breathing, most clinging onto life where only a select few looked like they could still be saved. Tony turned in a wide circle, his tormented eyes taking in the gruesome scene before him. Some of the forms crawled brokenly toward him while others just reached out with bloody fingers, reaching out for their Dad. The worst thing, Tony decided was that they were all talking to him, most questioning, begging.

 

“Dad why are you asleep? Why are you resting when you could be looking for me? Please don’t stop working to find me. I don’t want to go, I don’t wanna die Dad. Please.”

 

Some of them were yelling, upset and distraught and even angry with him.

 

“How could you? You’re leaving me to die, I’m dying, and you aren’t even trying to look for me. You gave up and now I’m going to die!”

 

Tony’s eyes searched through the Peter’s, trying to find one that was the most alive, the most living version of his child. His eyes caught the figure of a Peter with the least bruised skin, the least bloody wounds. He rushed over, weaving between the littered corpses and barely breathing bodies. He pulled the boy into a tight embrace, nestling the kid into his neck and pulling him closer and tighter. He clung to Peter, letting his tears stream down his face as he took in all of his son. His living son. He felt strong hands on his shoulders, but he shook his head forcefully, refusing to let go of his kid.

 

“Dad?” He heard Peter’s voice from just below him. “Dad, why’d you stop looking?” He didn’t, he would never stop looking, “you took a nap while I died.” No, no Peter’s not dead. Peter isn’t dead because he couldn’t be, he was safe, Tony was holding him right now. He could feel the rise and fall of his small torso against him. “You were sleeping while I was being murdered… I would be alive if you had just kept working!” Peter’s voice had risen, he was yelling now, and his voice was filled with anger. His voice which was always so soft and excited and optimistic was morphing into a cruel twisted rage as he struggled in his Dad’s arms.

 

He felt strong hands on his shoulders as Peter continued to yell. “Wake up! Wake up and save me! Wake up please help me! Dad please save me - help me!” He was screaming through his hoarse throat, begging Tony to wake up. The hands tugged at him as he felt Peter disappearing in his hold, the feeling of his child crumbling away into bedsheets was a shock to his system as he peeled and forced his eyes open.

 

\----

 

“Wake up! Tony wake up!” Steve held his shoulders still and Rhodey yelled, trying to wake him up as he struggled and yelled through his nightmare. Tony jolted violently upward into a sitting position, tears clouding his vision and sweat beading on his forehead. He seemed to not realise where he was as he stared blankly up at Rhodey and Steve, his eyes and brain not connecting the dots for a moment before the two men saw clarity rush though and clear his stunned face.

 

“I have to go. I – I have to keep working.” He spoke seemingly to himself as he got up out of bed and ran frantic hands through his sleep-mussed hair. Steve put a steadying hand on his shoulder as Tony went to walk for the door. He jerked away from the touch, moving around the man and storming through the door, rushing back to the lab as the two men jogged after him.

 

“Tony, come back you need rest.”

 

“You need to drink some water, you’ll get dehydrated.”

 

Tony spun around to face them when he reached the door to the lab. His voice was angry, and he spoke in a whisper-shout.

 

“I do not need any more rest. I just slept. Just let me work, leave me alone. I can’t lie around and do nothing while there are people out there with my kid, hurting him and worse.” Rhodey looked down at the floor, brow furrowed in concentration.

 

“Tony you slept for thirty-two minutes, that’s not rest.” His friend spoke cautiously, trying not to further upset the man.

 

“You don’t know that’s what’s happening to him…” Steve countered quietly. Tony turned to him, ignoring Rhodey completely in favour of chewing out the soldier.

 

“Bullshit Steve. You saw how they took him, you saw the bruises – bull. Shit they’re not hurting him. I can almost promise you Peter won’t tell them anything willingly, he’s a tiny me with half the self-preservation and twice the teenage recklessness. He won’t say anything, they won’t let up, he gets hurt. Or killed.” He stared back at the two men, huffing from the effort of his anger as the two men, who he knew were trying to help him, stared back, sad looks plastered over their faces.

 

“You can’t take your nightmare as fact, it wasn’t real.” He rolled his eyes and pushed open the lab, frowning at the eyes that peered at him from over the computer screens.

 

“I’m assuming you heard all that? Yeah, so leave me alone and let me work” he snapped, the words coming out harsher than he meant. The eyes ducked back below the screens and began typing again as Steve and Rhodey walked into the lab, watching as Tony sunk down into his chair and immediately began to work once again. They sighed and Rhodey rubbed his eyebrows in concern, Steve resigning to sitting down on the couch and scrolling through a Stark Pad to look for any news reports involving the Spider.

 

“I’m always here if you want to talk about anything Tones.” Rhodey stood next to Tony’s chair, speaking in a low voice to give the two some semblance of privacy. He grumbled and rolled his shoulders, trying to keep all his attention back on the screen, refusing to let his mind slip to how Peter had felt in his arms, or how his small voice sounded, warped in fury.

 

Tony worked for eight hours before he even stepped away from the screen, and even then, it was only to walk hazily to the bathroom and suffer through another panic attack. When he had passed the worst of it, and he was curled on the floor against the cabinet, he reached into his pocket with shaky fingers and pulled out his phone. Running on pure default he dialled Peter’s number, his eyes prickling as he heard the familiar, soft, comforting voice of his son on the other end. Of course, it was only his voicemail.

 

“Hey, it’s Peter! Leave a message or call again if it’s important and I’ll get back soon.” The beep sounded after the pause that followed his words. Tony regretted to admit it, but he spoke into the receiver. He blinked past tears to stare at the tiled wall of the bathroom as he let his mouth take over and murmur comforting promises into the phone long after the beep sounded a second time, signalling the end of his message. It grounded him, not just hearing Peter’s voice but knowing that maybe, there was a tiniest sliver of possibility that he would hear the message. It calmed him, and so he continued whispering into the phone whenever he felt the cold grip of panic beginning to wrap around his heart.

 

\----

 

Peter craned his neck, eyeing the speakers, wires, lights and cameras positioned around the room. Ryan watched the boy carefully, viewing him with the same curiosity, but much less worry. He curled his lips into a smile as Peter tried to inconspicuously shuffle away from him. He stepped further forward, leaning into the teens space, making sure he felt his breath against his ear when he spoke.

 

“So, you wanna see it all in action Spider?” The kid stumbled back from him, nausea bubbling in his throat as the man’s hot breath ran across his neck, his senses prickling in discomfort. Although the breath was warm, it felt far less inviting than the dense chill that wrapped the room like ice over a frozen lake.

 

“N – n – no.” His teeth chattered and his whole body shook from the cold, but he still answered, the biting pain in his knee serving as a reminder to always answer the man. “I’ll set it on for a minute for now, because while I want to stay in here and watch you squirm, it’s a slight annoyance to my senses.” He emphasized the word ‘my,’ as if implying if it was an inconvenience to him, it would be hell for Peter. He turned on his heel and pressed himself against the opposite wall, along with the rest of the guards and doctors. He nodded and they all cupped their hands over their ears and Peter distantly wondered if he should follow suit and do the same. Before he could do so, it started.

 

He fell to his knees and desperately clapped his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as possible. Strobe-style lighting popped from the ceiling, illuminating the room in an overpowering flash of extreme brightness and then plunging into pitch black, before repeating again. As the lights seized, the speakers screamed at such a high volume that even with fingers dug into his ears, Peter felt like his skull was cracking at the sheer sound. It was high pitched and made him lock up and clench his teeth in pain. His head pounded, and he felt sick, his body shook from how hard he was tensing, and everything blacked out as all he could focus on was the resounding roar of the speakers and the blazing flash of the lights he could still see from behind his eyelids.

 

After a full minute of the torturous assault on Peter’s senses, everything shut off. He hadn’t realised he had been crying, or sobbing his throat raw, but when he finally, lifted his hands away from his ears and opened his eyes, his whole body was trembling vigorously. He didn’t bother to wipe at his tears as Ryan circled him, running a finger along the back of his neck, digging his nail into one of the cuts, ripping at the scab that had formed over the wound. Peter couldn’t bring himself to care, he was shaking and could barely take in any air through his panic. His breathing was unsteady and too rapid to be healthy. The teens feverishly panicked mind or the lack of oxygen must have been too much, because he did something horribly stupid. He stood and sprinted for the door.

 

Well, he tried to sprint, but the most he managed was a frantic and hurried limp. Before he could even curl his frozen, shaky fingers around the door handle, one of the guards’ hands wrapped around his throat and threw him backwards with such force that he tumbled at Ryan’s feet. He slumped to the floor, pressing his head against the cold tile, hoping it would somehow cool the burning pain that flared inside his skull. He choked on a broken sob, his breath stuttering like an old car motor as he whimpered and cowered under the man’s gaze.

 

“P – Please, god. Do – don’t do that again, please… pl – please.” Ryan looked down at him and felt a sadistic pleasure at the boy begging beneath him. His sick pride burnt away into fury as he saw the teen eyeing the door again, mentally sizing up the distance he would have to cover. He raised his leg and brought it smashing down onto Peter’s ankle. The kid screamed and writhed, tears flying from his crumpled face as he shook his head and brokenly slapped the tile, trying to drag his exhausted body away from the weight crushing down on his ankle. He couldn’t pull away because tugging the ankle from under Ryan meant using his knee, and that was not an option with the state it was currently in. “No – ah… get off! It – it hurts, please!” Peter’s cracked cries prompted Ryan to lift his opposite foot, so his full weight rested on his ankle. The boys screams intensified as the pain got so much worse before Ryan stepped off him casually, as if he hadn’t just heard the snap of the ankle bone echo through the cell. He crouched in front of Peter, tilting his face towards him to meet his eyes as the teen clutched and cradled his broken bone.

 

“Want to try to fucking run again, huh? Next time it won’t just be a broken ankle you hop away with – you brat.” Peter was silent except for the heavy, hitched breaths he was shakily sucking in. He coughed again, disrupting his breathing and making him choke on another sob. As Ryan left the cell, he turned, motioning for the guards to follow him out as he spoke, “give him another thirty minutes as a lesson.” There was silence for a few glorious seconds, before everything broke out into the same flare of absolute hell.

 

And as Peter laid, curled in a tight ball on the icy floor of the cell, he endured possibly the worst thirty minutes. The metal table and the surgery had been agonising, but the pain was focused to mainly one area at a time, but now, it was an all-consuming convulsion of torturous pain. The thing that made it worse was the fact that Peter knew how pathetic and weak he looked during those thirty minutes, and he couldn’t really imagine being in any more pain or looking any more pitiful than he already did. But he could be wrong, and he was – so, so wrong.

 

\----

 

It had almost been three days. Almost three days since Tony watched the footage of his bruised and drugged child being thrown into an unidentified van and being taken away somewhere he couldn’t follow. Anything could happen in almost three days, and to Tony, the idea that his kid could already be a corpse like the ones in his dreams, was unbearable and terrifying, at best. He watched as everyone cycled through their shifts, always hearing the soft sounds of sleep or the concentrated buzz of someone working. Tony watched from the chair at his own computer as the shifts blurred together, he didn’t have a solid grip on time, the only times he even stood from his chair was to go back to the bathroom or pad to his bedroom and call that same number, listen to that same voicemail and leave the same teary message at the beep.

 

Steve and Rhodey got him coffee when he asked and continued to ignore their constant pleading for him to ‘have a break’ or ‘get air’ and ‘eat more food, drink more water.’ It was exhausting to say the least. Honestly, he was tired, he was somewhat hungry and if he wanted to, he could fall asleep in seconds because his eyes felt so heavy. But he couldn’t let himself, because he knew if he slept he would have another nightmare, he would see that lifeless face again. If he ate, it would just come back up later as he hyperventilated and heaved over the toilet, and regardless, he wouldn’t rest while Peter was still missing, still alone, still not safe or in his arms.

 

Eventually, they met a compromise. Tony would go on patrol with Natasha, Clint and Sam, three times a day, for an hour at a time. ‘Patrol’ was more along the lines of the Iron Man and Falcon flying around and scouting any shady or suspecting buildings while Natasha and Clint biked below them and called for the all clear, so he could head in and search the place for any signs. It was a longshot, and there was barely any chance at all that it would lead them to any clues, but it was helping and getting Rhodey and Steve somewhat off his back, so Tony complied and participated.

 

Falcon saw the van first, Natasha gave the all clear, and Tony blasted down the doors with probably more firepower than they needed. The small flame of hope he had felt was quickly extinguished when, a few hours later, it was confirmed that the van had been abandoned on the street almost two days ago and served no further clues. Tony couldn’t even find footage of the men driving the van because they had parked and exited it far from the view of any cameras. He left a dent in the side of the van before he agreed to end patrol on the sour note, the taste of failure burning in his throat and the need to call Peter’s phone alight in the forefront of his mind. He landed and disengaged his suit, storming past the lab and shutting himself in the bathroom. As soon as he had closed the door his knees seemed to give way, he slid down the cabinet until he was on the ground, curled in on himself as he cried quietly.

 

Steve turned to look at Rhodey as Tony rushed past the door to the lab. When Natasha, Clint and Sam slowly filed in, grim expressions painting their faces, he knew something must have happened. He listened as they spoke solemnly, and even the assassin who masked her emotion had the barest hint of empathetic sadness flash across her face as she spoke.

 

“We found one of the vans from the footage, but we searched it and there were no camera’s anywhere close enough, so there wasn’t any information we didn’t already know.”

 

“Well, it does tell us that whoever took him must have been smart, or at least planned it out well enough to not get caught.” Rhodey tried to speak in optimism but confirming the fact that whoever took the kid was intelligent enough to cover their tracks well enough that the Avengers were taking this long to get them, somehow didn’t seem too optimistic. Steve nodded to Natasha when he heard the very faint but unmistakeable sounds of Tony hiding away in the bathroom. He walked down the hallway, trying to make sure his footsteps were heard by the man currently huddled behind the closed door. He knocked softly, hoping not to startle the mechanic.

 

“orry, ‘m coming. I promise, I’ll find you. I will.”

 

Steve felt bad hovering outside the room, but he felt worse eavesdropping, so he pushed open the door slowly. Tony was pressed against the cabinet on the opposite wall, his face was tear streaked and his hair stuck out from all over his head. The low lighting caught his face and drew attention to his dark bags, his tired eyes and his murmuring lips. He was whispering into his phone, the screen tilted away so Steve couldn’t see who he was calling but could make a good guess based on what he could hear.

 

“I will find you, I swear. I’m not gonna give up, I will never stop looking Pete.” His hoarse voice cracked on the boy’s name and he hung his head as the beep of the message signalled the message was over and sent. He looked up at Steve with grief-stricken eyes and the man felt a need to comfort again.

 

“Steve… I – I can’t do this” he admitted quietly, dropped his eyes and fiddled with the phone still clutched in his shaky hands. “It’s – It’s too much and I… he’s – he could be hurt or – or god, he could be dead already and I wouldn’t know. Fuck… I – I need my kid back.” He resisted the urge to say ‘language’ because he knew now wasn’t the right time. He slid his back down the sink until he was next to Tony, who was hugging his knees to his chest. Steve moved as slowly as he could, he really felt dangerous in these uncharted waters, unsure what was okay, what wasn’t. He didn’t get the chance to gauge how angry the Stark still was at him, he didn’t know if he had the right to talk about Peter or reach out and place a comforting hand on the man’s arm or shoulder.

 

“I know Tony, this is… this must be so hard for you and I’m so sorry I can’t fix it – but I’m trying, I really am. I just want Pe – the… the kid to be safe and get him home to you. Because you’re an amazing Dad and I don’t even need to see you raising him to know that.” Tony had lifted his head and he had wiped away most of his tears and was now looking at Steve with an unreadable expression in his eyes.

 

“You can say his name, Peter’s I mean” Steve cleared his throat almost awkwardly before nodding. “Are you… you weren’t talking about this situation just before, were you?” The men both looked at the ground, averting eye contact while Tony wondered if he should have asked, and Steve struggled to find the right way to reply.

 

“I – yeah I think I may have been… not purposely. I just think I feel like we have things to discuss – not now though, we can wait until – until we get Peter back.” The genius shrugged, taking his first steady breath in a while before speaking.

 

“No, it’s fine we can now. Uh, it helps take my mind off things, but I want to keep working too.” Steve nodded in understanding before getting up and wandering back to the lab. Tony fiddled with the phone, picked at a hangnail and wiped away the last of his tears before the man walked back into the lab. He was balancing a cup of coffee, two Stark Pads, a pillow and an apple. Placing the cup of coffee next to Tony, he dropped the pillow on the ground next to him and laid the apple on top of the Stark Pad, sliding it across next to the mug of coffee. He sat down on the pillow and began to half heartedly tap at the Stark Pad, drawing up more news reports that had some mention of Spider-Man in them. Tony gratefully picked up the things, taking a bite from the apple and pulling up the police database of all recently released criminals that may have had a vendetta against himself or his kid.

 

“You sure you’re cool with talking about it?” Tony nodded, glancing up from the device on his lap. “We can stop at any point” he rolled his eyes good naturedly.

 

“You’re acting like a therapist. Yeah – it was a shitty situation –”

 

“Language” Steve interrupted, unable to hold it back this time.

 

“And we didn’t handle it that well” Tony continued, “but we can talk about it now, it’s fine.” They both felt reassured, contentedly tapping away, half attention on the conversation, the other on the work on their laps.

 

\----

 

“How was that Petey?” He thought he was going to throw up, he knew when Ryan spoke in that sickly-sweet way it meant he was going to be in his space, touching his face and playing with his hair. The man’s emotional state was unsteady, unpredictable and flew between disgustingly affectionate and furious too quickly for Peter to track. He moaned, whimpering as he tucked himself into a tighter ball, flinching as he heard the footsteps of the guards and Ryan drawing closer.

 

“Pl – please don’t” his voice was fractured and hoarse from sobbing and his throat felt raw and scratchy.

 

“M’ not gonna hurt you right now spider, you can relax a bit.” He lifted a finger off his eye for a second when he heard the soft sound of something being carefully placed by his head. He was about to cower away from it, expecting it to be something designed to hurt him, but he was surprised to find a small plastic cup filled with water, resting just inches away from his face. He licked his dry lips, swallowing with his parched throat, how long had it been since he had his last drink of water, breakfast on the morning he was taken. How long ago was that? It must be almost three days then, not counting the non-consensual dunking of his head into that tub, because he didn’t drink that water, he inhaled it and drowned. “Go on Pete, I didn’t drug it.” He slowly unfurled his good arm, gingerly propping himself upright as he reached for the cup. To be perfectly honest, he half expected it to be a test, and for Ryan to lash out and grip his arm.

 

He brought the cup to his cracked lips and guzzled the water, relishing in how much better it made his throat feel. His headache began to subside, but he still felt like crying over the overwhelming pain now in his ankle, hip, shoulder, knee and how hard it had gotten to breathe properly. It was so much worse when he laid down, he physically could not pull in enough of a breath if he was lying flat. He finished the cup and placed it on the floor with shaking fingers. He froze as he felt Ryan’s fingers lace in his hair and scratch through his curls gently, lazily, as if he wasn’t invading the teens space and making bile rise in his throat. Peter wanted to scream, he wanted to shove the man away without holding any of his power back, he wanted to kick at him and rip his offending hand out of his hair. He felt sick, he felt like gagging and the lump in his throat raised and it was getting near impossible to breathe.

 

“S – stop! Get off me… please st – stop” he choked out his words as he began to sob again. He heaved and tried to squirm away, but Ryan dragged him closer with his free hand wrapping around the front of his chest, pulling the small teen and caging him in against his front. Peter broke down, whimpering as tears slipped down his cheeks and fell onto the floor between his legs. “N – n – no, no, ple – please stop…” His voice was small and buried under the sound of his crying. Ryan nestled the boy under the crook of his own neck, gently tugging his hair to force him to lean back and rest his weight on him. The movement only made Peter feel more sick, acidic bile rising further up his throat until he tasted a disgusting flavour in his mouth that was akin to blood. He continued to beg and whimper quietly, stopping to take gulping, desperate breaths as the fingers continued to card through his curls.

 

“You know Pete, you’ve been pretty good so far, apart from before, but you got a broken ankle and another session as punishment, so I’m willing to offer you a deal.” The boy took a shaky breath and bit the inside of his cheek, holding back another sob. “If you give me one good reason why I should stop, or explain to me why you don’t like this – then I might hold off for a bit.” Peter felt Ryan’s jaw move above him, and he knew it meant he was smirking.

 

“B – because I – I don’t like it…” He barked out a shout of laughter that made Peter flinch and tremble in his arms.

 

“That’s a terrible reason Petey” his fingers tightened slightly in warning before continuing to pet his head “I’ll give you one more chance, then I get to do whatever I want, whenever I want.” Peter felt like shooting back with a comment about how he’s been doing that anyway, and it wouldn’t change anything, but he bit it back and thought hard.

 

“I – I want you to stop… because the – the only person who I let touch my hair is – is…” he trailed off, cutting himself off with another choked sob. “Is my Da – Dad…” He looked down, too disgusted at how uselessly pathetic he was to gauge Ryan’s reaction. The fingers stilled in his hair and he heard the man hum, the vibrations rumbling deep in his chest, so Peter could feel it against his still wounded back.

 

“Mm, and who is your Dad little spider?” He shuddered at the nickname, and Ryan knew his epithets put the teen on edge, which is why he switched them up so frequently. Ryan also knew the Avengers had been searching through New York, looking through abandoned buildings, which is why he had taken the boy completely out of New York. He had hidden the teen away in an old, abandoned science facilities basement, in Bridgeport. It was perfect, the way things had worked out, the boy lived in New York, Ryan had his organisation in Bridgeport, therefore all he needed to do was drug the kid and get him to the inconspicuous science building where he operated from. He also had an abandoned warehouse in Queens which he used for backup and lesser subjects, it was also where he had originally taken Peter, before he realised the Stark intern was exactly who he was looking for. Ryan was smart and had enough of a brain to piece together a relatively strong hypothesis, the ‘Stark Intern’ who went by the name ‘Peter Parker’ was kidnapped by him, not too long ago. Almost immediately, the Avengers began to look for something, or someone and it was obvious to him because there had been plenty of news reports flooding his desk.

 

“Avengers band together again to search New York” … “Iron Man and team inspect abandoned buildings of NY!” … “Tony Stark cancels all press and meetings in favour of Iron Man related issue” …

 

The papers and news alerts grew and grew on Ryan’s desk, he began to assume the worst, he had underestimated how much Tony Stark would care for his intern, or something Spider-Man related was setting off the Avengers on their wild goose chase. Why did they care so much? What was so special about the kid he was holding right now, in his arms. He looked down at Peter, swirling his fingers in his hair and squeezing him as he repeated the question, anger rising in his voice. “I said, who is your Dad?” He let his nails dig into the boy’s scalp and chest roughly, giving him as much of a warning as he deserved before he lost his temper.

 

Peter yelped from under him, as his grip tightened, the direct and confronting question making him uneasy.

 

“I don’t w – wanna tell you that…” Peter’s voice trailed off, he closed his eyes and tensed as much as he could, preparing for the blow that was sure to come.

 

“Is it Stark?” His eyes snapped open and he, impossibly, tensed more as Ryan pressed the subject.

 

“W – what? No, no, no I – Mr. Stark isn’t my… my Dad. I’m just the intern!” He squirmed in the man’s hold, managing to uncomfortably twist his body around enough to crane his neck up to face Ryan. Did he know the truth? Was it just a guess? Had he gotten confused and thought Tony was his Dad because of the internship? Questions raced through Peter’s anxious mind too quickly for him to grasp onto any solid explanation for why Ryan would ask.

 

He jolted and fell back, knocking over the empty plastic cup as a deliberate punch caught his jawline with enough force to make him taste blood. Another came down beside his mouth, splitting his lip and making it sting. He attempted to defend himself from the next three punches that littered his face, his legs kicking uselessly underneath him. Ryan stood over him, clutching his hair for traction that he used to rain punches down on the teen.

 

“You’re gonna fucking lie to me? I’ve been watching the Avengers, they’re searching all of New York for your sorry ass! Why would Tony Stark care about a shit like you, huh?” His voice was low, teeming with absolute fury as he screamed at Peter, who was slipping on the bloodied tile beneath him.

 

“S – stop” punch. “Ah! I don…” punch. “I don’t know why he ca…” kick. “Why he cares about me” the snap of a broken rib. “I’m just an intern! Ple…” the horrid sound of Peter’s blood splattering on the ground. “Please! Sto – stop. I can’t, I can’t b…” a dull thud as his head smacked against the cold tile. “I can’t breathe! I can’t… I don’t know – I – I… I’m… intern.” Peter had begun to black out from the lack of oxygen his head was getting, and even his weak hands wouldn’t cooperate enough to feebly block the blows. Punch, black eye. Punch, bloody nose. Punch, head against the tile, one more and he was out.

 

Ryan paced the cell, his gaze only flicking to the still, bloody form that lay atop the white tile. The guards wiped away some of the old blood on the floor, took away the plastic cup and left Ryan alone in the cell with the limp, unconscious teen. He walked around the room, running his hands along the cuffs and chains that lined the wall, adjusting the temperature so the cold was more biting than before. He startled slightly as his phone buzzed in his pocket, eyes wandering over to the unmoving body across to him.

 

“What is it now – talk to me.” He demanded, halting his pacing to nudge the boy with his foot, checking that he was truly out cold before listening to the other man on the phone.

 

“Boss, we checked the phone and got the techie to make it untraceable like you requested – but we found some messages you’ll probably wanna hear.”

 

“Fine, send them through to my phone, clear out the warehouse now that you’re done with the phone, Stark and his crew have been tearing apart New York looking for the fucking kid.” He hung up when he got an affirmation, leaning down over the boy who still laid across the tile, his skin a mess of mottled bruises and bloodied wounds. He ran his fingers over the lesser injuries from the preliminary healing test, noting that they had calmed slightly, the skin less raised and red. He pulled out his phone as it vibrated again. The voice of the boy’s suspected Father filled the room, his voice shaky and distraught. The pain and grief he was clearly causing the normally tough man was the only good thing about it, because the idea that Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers were now looking for his latest subject, put Ryan on edge.

 

Twelve minutes later, as the final message ended, Ryan called for two of the guards and they entered on his command, standing stiffly at the ready for any instruction he would give. “Either of you know how to work a camera well enough?”

 

“Yes Boss, I can” one of the guards responded. He outlined what he wanted the guard to do as the other one helped him shift the boy slightly, angling his face upwards towards the light. Ryan carefully adjusted the body until he was satisfied, stepping backwards to admire how much younger, smaller, and weaker the teen now looked. The light hit his bruises, which were almost as dark as the angled shadows that carved the boy’s jawline, and almost everything stood stark against his pale, chilled skin. The fluorescent lights reflected and bounced off the blood that pooled around the form, covering the still bare torso.

 

The first guard reappeared at Ryan’s side, clutching a camera in his fingers. Ryan nodded, and he crouched down, snap. He backed away for a wide shot, snap. He stepped close, the lens almost brushing against the skin of the defenceless boy, snap. After a range of angles were covered, Ryan stepped forward towards Peter.

 

“Don’t dare get anything but my hand in these next shots, if you are responsible for blowing this operation I swear I’ll have you killed before you even get the option of imprisonment.” Ryan growled, asserting his authority over the makeshift photographer as he once again buried his fingers and palm into the soft curls that covered the boy’s head in loose, brown ringlets. He guided his hand through the hair, combing and ruffling it in a way that would be loving, if the feeling didn’t integrate itself into the teen’s nightmares. “I guarantee this will fuck off Stark when he get’s these” Ryan said absentmindedly, his attention mainly on Peter. He checked through the images, checking them off before murmuring his instructions to the guard holding the camera, still carding his fingers through the wavy swirls, brushing some of the strays off the boy’s forehead. 

 

“Print those out, take them to the warehouse where we first took the kid. Then, get the techie to lay them all out and unblock the phone’s signal. Confirm everyone’s out of there before you unblock the signal, clear out and make absolutely sure you aren’t seen or followed on your way back here.” He sent the guard off to fulfil his order and turned back to look at the teen.

 

He noticed Peter stir slightly, waking slowly from a nightmare. Ryan reluctantly pulled his fingers away from his hair and stepped further away from the sluggishly waking figure.

 

“Mm, wha – what’s happnin’?” His voice was slurred, and he was clearly still hazed enough to be confused. Ryan waited patiently for the kid to get his bearings, because he wanted him at least somewhat coherent for what he planned for next. He squirmed further away from Ryan, pressing a hand to his broken rib and wincing as he wheezed while the guard and Ryan hoisted him to his feet.

 

“If you struggle I won’t hesitate to cut you foot off next time, not just break the ankle.” Peter went slack in his grip and he smiled to himself at how quickly the kid had listened, almost praising him. He pressed the boy against the far wall by his throat as the guard fastened the ankle cuffs and secured his wrists high above him, stretching the boy taught like a piece of string, not letting his back press against the wall much for support or allowing his feet to touch the ground too much. He smirked as the boy whimpered at the coldness and aching positioning of the restraints. He stood on his tip-toes and held onto the wrist bonds to try and keep his body weight off of his wounded shoulder.

 

“Wh – what are you doing?” He cried out as Ryan moved to the door along with the remaining guard. He turned, throwing Peter a dark look as he called back to him.

 

“Letting you decide if you want to refuse to answer a direct question ever again.” Before he left, he fiddled with the temperature once more and turned on the lighting and speakers, making Peter cry out in fear and distress at the idea of enduring another session. “Have a nice, long night Petey. Oh – and if you even dare try and fall asleep I’ll turn the sprinklers on too, and you can freeze.”

 

Peter couldn’t even hear the clang of the door over the sound of the speakers and his own scream of pain as it swung shut and sealed his fate.

 

\----

 

Tony and Steve had only just settled back at their computers in the lab after their talk, when the mechanic’s screen blared, making everyone’s head snap up and shoot him curious and worried looks. He peered at the screen to figure out what the information it was receiving was, and when his tired brain finally caught up with what he was seeing he jumped from his seat so quickly it almost fell over backwards.

 

“Everybody suit up now. Peter’s phone must have been turned on because I have a signal.” Everyone immediately jumped into action, buzzing around the room, pulling on their equipment and prepping the vehicles. “It’s a warehouse we haven’t searched yet… in Queens!” Tony called out to the room full of now eager and ready heroes. The suit moulded over the restless Dad, his repulsors fully charged, all power diverting to the thrusters as the Avengers who couldn’t fly scrabbled to find fast enough modes of transportation as Tony burst out of the house and blasted through the sky. He was on a warpath, his kid had been followed, hurt and kidnapped – and someone was going to pay when he got there.

 

Tony landed first, only having to wait two more minutes for the Falcon and War Machine to fall next to his position across the street. The rest not far behind, pulling up only minutes later, dismounting their bikes. There they all were, lined up and ready to storm the building, the genius ready to get his son back and break some bones in revenge. He clenched his fists, the metal sound of his suit grating on his hears, grounding him, the pounding of everyone’s collective footsteps pounded as they approached the doors that stood beside all the boarded up and cracked windows.

 

“Natasha, Clint, Sam – go around back to find another way in, give us the signal through the comms when you’re in position.” They nodded and stalked into place without argument or hesitation. Rhodey murmured to Tony as they waited for the all clear.

 

“Keep your head in there Tones, don’t let anything distract you from getting the kid out. We’ll cover the rest.” He nodded a thanks and planted his feet more firmly as the staticky signal from Natasha sounded in his comms. He motioned with his iron-clad hand to move and then they surged.

 

Tony fired a repulsor blast straight at the door, blasting it off it’s old hinges as Natasha, Clint and Sam burst through the back. Rhodey passed through the smoke still clearing around the door and Steve smashed his way through a window, rolling as he hit the ground and coming into a standing position, brushing off the glass with his gloved palms. The Iron Man suit walked through the smoking wreckage of the door, stepping beside and in front of Rhodey and Steve in a line, staring back at Natasha, Clint and Sam who were mirroring the exact same stance from the other side of the warehouse. He overlooked the way their positions imitated the same ones they had before they fought in that German airport.

 

“Nobody’s here” Steve said plainly, his voice a mask of battle, devoid of emotion unlike at the tower. Tony surveyed the area, taking in the large, empty space before his eyes landed on the far corner of the warehouse. His suit retracted as he stumbled forward, running across the large room and dropping to his knees and taking in what he was seeing.

 

The remnants of a broken chair laid, strewn across the floor as if it had collapsed under force, ropes were wound loosely around the legs and arms of the chair, indicating it had once held someone. Not too many feet away Tony could see a splash of dark, long-since dried blood that stained the floor. Steve was holding a small piece of paper in his hands, and his expression made worry flood through his veins.

 

“What’s it say?” He asked, his voice came out higher and more strained then he meant it to. Steve’s lips were pressed in a hard line, and he shook his head, sliding the paper across to the anxiety-riddled mechanic, unable to say the words.

 

‘This is where we shot your son, because he tried, and failed, to run.’ The printed letters were there specifically to hurt him, and Tony understood that, but it didn’t make the fact hurt any less. The fact he knew that was Peter’s blood wasn’t even the worst thing, because when he forced his eyes back to the scene around him, his gaze fell on something that made his eyes burn, throat squeeze shut, and nausea bubble up within his now weak stomach.

 

Printed images of dark, bruised, bloody and torn skin littered the floor. Vibrant red leaked out of pale, blue-tinted skin and covered blaring white tile. His eyes flicked from photo to photo, tears slowly falling and rolling down his cheeks as various gory angles and images of his son burnt themselves into his mind. A faded surgery scar was barely noticeable through the mass of angry slices that patterned the whole of the boy’s back, eighty of them, varied in depth and how much blood had obviously leaked out of them, the worst being lower down. The depth of the wounds on the hipbone, right knee and shoulder were unfathomable, and Tony could clearly see were segments of the bone had been removed from each. One of the ankles on the teen had been crushed, twisted at a horrible angle, the bone had likely been shattered from whatever concentrated force had done that. The skin surrounding one of the upper left ribs was tarnished and smeared a nauseating array of purple, blue and black, it reminded Tony of the galaxies he saw before he fell through the hole above New York. Raw burns and bruises lined both wrists and ankles, probably having been made worse by thrashing and tearing at what bonds may have encased them. The normally soft, carefree smile that graced the boy’s lips was marred by a pained expression, a split lip and bloody nose smeared the ashen skin. An angry mark that shadowed one of the teens eyes was accompanied by similar discolouration over the majority of his face.

 

The dirt and blood that caked Peter’s cheeks were broken up only by the tear tracks that cut through them, and it broke Tony’s heart knowing his boy had cried. The window the tear tracks gave, allowed him to see the little skin that peeked through dark bruises, and it was so, staggeringly white, bloodless and pallid. The only colours that could be seen on the kid was the blue tinge to his lips, assumingly from lack of oxygen, dark smears of thick, bloody red, and the bruises ranging from fading yellow-green to fresh, angry red, purple, blue and black. The only features of Peter that weren’t dulled by his quickly deteriorating health were things like his dark lashes, wild brown curls, sharp jawline and pronounced cheekbones. In fact, if anything, the lack of proper food was most likely highlighting the latter two features of the boy’s face.

 

Tony slowly picked up a wide shot of his kid with shaking fingers, his tears began to fall from where they had only graced his cheeks, and land quietly in his lap. He took in the photograph, suddenly realising how much smaller and younger his son looked. Peter should never look that pained, that hurt, that broken. His baby should never look that close to death. It had barely been three days, how could anyone do so many horrible things, to such a pure, innocent child? How could he let anything happen to the one thing that mattered most in his world, let alone something this agonisingly detestable. He put the photo that displayed how defenceless and young his kid looked, his trembling hands finding another, with a whole darker aspect of torture buried in its contents.

 

Tony never knew that seeing one hand would make him want to destroy a person so badly. He had promised himself, long, long ago, that when it came to Peter, he wouldn’t lose it, because he was so afraid of scaring him, and deeper down, Tony was afraid he would turn into his own Father, Howard Stark. But seeing that hand, that fucking hand, buried in his child’s curls – that made him want to end somebody’s life. The longer he stared at the collection of photos, in particular the close-up of the kidnapper’s fingers buried in unconscious Peter’s hair, the quicker his anger gave way for nausea. Bile rose in his throat, he suddenly felt sick, the inside of his mouth flooded, he felt waves of cold and hot, he turned and ran.

 

\----

 

Steve rolled on his shoulder, using the momentum of his jump to carry his body further forwards as he extended his legs, coming into a standing position easily, a practised move he had done do many times in training. When there was no immediate threat – he reached and brushed away the small pieces of glass that clung to the shoulders of his uniform. He walked forward a few steps, so he was in line with Rhodey, they exchanged a glance before locking their gazes ahead of them, scanning the place through the smoke. Tony stepped between them, doing the same scan from within his armour.

 

“Nobody’s here” he concluded, keeping his voice as steadily impartial as he could – right now he needed to be as logical as he could, because one of the most logical people on the team was fighting on pure emotion, for good reason too. Steve watched as Tony’s head casted across to the opposite end of the warehouse, then stepped forward on instinct to comfort him as his suit disengaged and folded off him. He moved to catch the man as he stumbled in desperation, but he quickly caught his balance and ran to the corner of the warehouse.

 

He moved to follow and was almost close enough to see what was making his friend so upset, when something caught his eye. He had seen the blood earlier, and it had made him worried for the kid, but the note he now held in his hands made him feel more for Tony. ‘This is where we shot your son, because he tried, and failed, to run.’ It was glaringly obvious that this had been a set-up, and he would have much preferred it if the reason had been an attempted trap, but it hadn’t been, and the reason they were all here ran a lot deeper. The people who took Peter had set up the warehouse for the sole purpose of hurting the boy’s Dad, and it had worked, judging on how worried the man looked as he shakily asked Steve what the note said.

 

There was no way he was reading that out to Tony, he didn’t even try to explain as he slid the paper across to the man. His lips parted, and he wanted to say how sorry he was that this happened, but he knew the Stark didn’t want pity or apologies, he wanted his child back. Steve could only offer comfort and support as he looked for the boy, and so he stood, looking over the unsteady shoulders of his friend, watching as he fell apart.

 

“Tony…” He began, but the man stood, silently, his face was pale and his breathing unsteady.

 

“I – I can’t deal with this, I’ll see you back at the tower.” Steve saw a tear roll down the man’s face, grief clouding his haunted eyes as the suit materialised and closed around him. He nodded solemnly and let the suit carry the grieving man back to the tower.

 

“I’m going to head back too, make sure he’s… alright. Are you guys alright to uh, clean this up?” Natasha nodded from behind them, an unreadable expression on her face as she agreed to the task. After Rhodey left, she was the only one willing to collect the photographs and hide them away in a case file while the rest of the team took care of the rest.

 

\----

 

Tony landed the suit gracelessly, beginning to run before it had even fully retracted from his form. He collapsed in the bathroom, heaving over the toilet bowl and not bothering to hold his tears back anymore. His breathing was hitched, and he felt vaguely as if he were drifting further and further away from his body. Even if he may have not been fully there, he felt Rhodey’s comforting hands on his back, guiding him to his room and gently directing him to the bed like he used to when Tony was blackout drunk. He fell asleep to the piercing image of a hand that definitely wasn’t his running through Peter’s hair and massaging his curls as his sons terrified screams filled the air.


	7. Cold and Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there's a small time jump, some mildly fluffy memories, lovely horror, angst, whump - and a spark of hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is a couple days early - partly because I am in the midst of exams and needed a distraction from studying, and also because I received the loveliest comment from Shoyzz last chapter. Thank you to anyone and everyone who comments because I'm not joking when I say they make me write faster (and so, so happy).
> 
> Wish you luck for any exams you might have, and also luck for putting up with the poor Peter whump this chapter...
> 
> <3 please comment <3

Peter was back on the table, strapped down and cuffed so he couldn’t even fight. He doesn’t know what number experiment this was, he doesn’t remember how long he’s been here, it must at least a week, maybe two? Once they began the sleep deprivation tests the boy really lost count, he couldn’t even guess what time of day it was anymore. His concept of time was solely dependent on the fact that Ryan chained him up at night with the speakers and lights, then experimented on him in the lab during the day, before taking him back to the cell and beginning again. The teen was losing more and more weight, he hadn’t slept since Ryan had shown him the new cell, he wasn’t allowed to. The few times his eyes began to shut, or he started to go limp, the sprinklers would turn on. Those nights were the worst because being wet made the hypothermia kick in, and the colder he got, the weaker he got. The weaker he was the more exhausted and tired he became. The only thing keeping him from unconsciousness all the time was the glass of water every day and piece of bread every second day.

 

He wondered sometimes, when he had given up trying to put on a front. He thinks, his resolve had broken then, when he was first left alone in the new cell that night, with the lights and speakers left on. That night was the first time he screamed, and he hadn’t had the will power to stop himself since. Sometimes, Ryan would put away the tools and clean up his blood while he complimented how he sounded as he screamed. The times that Ryan was nice were the worst, because Peter felt like he was giving the man who hurt him satisfaction, and all he wanted was to be strong and sarcastic like his Dad, but he was too afraid of being punished. The day after he screamed for the first time, Ryan had him on the table again, but he asked questions as he did more surgery. Peter didn’t answer everything, only the things that would save his life. Knowing he had an advanced metabolism and needed more food then anyone else was something he had to tell Ryan, because if he was only getting fed the bare minimum for a normal person, he’d be dead within a month. Peter didn’t know if he would be here a month, he hoped not, but he wasn’t sure how long it would take for his Dad to find him. The boy’s hope never wavered, he knew his Dad and the other Avengers would keep looking for him, he didn’t know if they would find him in time though.

 

Peter remembers the first time he walked back to his cell after a day of experimentation, because he was actually able to walk back to the cell. Now, he was so weak and so injured that if he put any weight on his legs they would give way, or the pain would be so overwhelming his body chose to pass out, whichever happened first. He hadn’t walked on his own since he tried to run out of his cell, just before Ryan broke his ankle, now he was taken from his cell to the lab and back again on the metal table. Ryan was angry about that, he yelled something about not being able to do a duration test now, which Peter assumed involved him running until his legs gave out and he couldn’t anymore. Sometimes, Peter was angry about not being able to walk on his own too, because if he could he would have tried to run away again, not being able to carry his own weight made him feel even more helpless than before. But then again, he’d rather not be forced to run on a treadmill until he passed out, so maybe not having the freedom to move on his own was worth missing out on a ‘duration test.’

 

“Smile Pete.” He turned his head away on the table and closed his eyes, he knew what it meant was happening when Ryan told him to smile. He refused to look at the camera. He hated knowing that the photos were being given to his Dad, he hated it because he knew it would upset him, but deeper down, he was scared that his Dad would see how pathetic he looked. Ryan had shown him the photo’s his guard took the first time, and Peter saw how weak he looked, passed out and beaten until he was bloody. If that was how he saw himself, what did his Dad think?

 

\----

 

A week and three days. An entire week and three more days. Ten, whole, days. His son had been in the hands, of whoever the fuck they were, for ten days now, and Tony was losing himself. He retreated into himself, staying in his room and working on a Stark Pad, coming out only for the bathroom, to eat with the others, and to deliver the messages to them so they could rip it apart for information. It had started the day after they found the warehouse, and if Tony had thought seeing those pictures of Peter was hard, getting emails containing photo’s and audio files of him screaming was another level of horror. The pictures were continuous, they trickled in every day or so, but the audio files had started three days ago. They were the reason Tony stayed in his room, because in order to pick them apart for information, Natasha and everyone else had to play them and enhance them and he just couldn’t sit through that. He didn’t have enough tears to cry.

 

The photos with Peter’s face in them were the worst, because when they were just close-up shots of the injuries everyone could almost pretend it was any random body. When they could see the mop of curls or the watery, broken eyes of the innocent teenage boy, nobody could pretend. Tony was a mess, the day the second round of photos rolled in he punched the mirror in the bathroom, luckily, he didn’t need stitches but Rhodey was still unimpressed. They had a big meeting after the mirror incident, it wasn’t an intervention, per say, but it sure as hell felt like one in the moment to Tony.

 

He was lying in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin and pillow damp with tears. He drifted in and out of sleep some nights, but he never got much sleep. An hour a night was good enough for him and lying awake worrying and working to find his kid seemed more appealing than dealing with whatever nightmares sleep brought him.

 

There was a soft but insistent knock at his door, and he heard Rhodey’s voice drift into his room.

 

“Tony, we’re all in the kitchen and you need to join us so we can go over some things.” The tired mechanic sighed and rolled out of bed, tugging on somewhat fresh clothes before pulling open the door and staring blearily into the hallway.

 

“M’ tired, and don’t wan’ deal with anyone right now.” His voice was still slightly slurred with sleep, but he begrudgingly followed Rhodey to the kitchen, where everyone was already sat around the table. They looked patient, understanding, and Tony felt a pang as he realized the team looked like how they used to when everyone would have dinner together.

 

“Yeah, we know, and I understand that, but we need some ideas in place and a solid plan for getting the kid back home, okay? Can you please just listen to what we have now and then you can go rest some more.” His friends voice was even more patient and sincere than his face, and Tony wasn’t really surprised to find that his legs carried him forward and sat him down at the table next to Steve.

 

“Alright, what’ve you got so far Rhodes.”

 

“We have the place the originally held him – the warehouse – but we don’t have any clue where he is now, our guess is that they aren’t actually in New York, but that’s a hunch and not confirmed right now.” He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, glancing around the table at the people he clearly spoke about this with beforehand. “Tony, these photos and audio files they’re sending aren’t helping, we don’t even know if they’re real time or from days ago. In order to trace things, we need a video, or a livestream, or for someone to get a hard copy to us, so we can track them back to the place they’re hiding out.” He didn’t know where this was going, but he got the vibe from the room that he wasn’t going to like it. “We think… that it would be best to respond to them and ask for proof that Peter is still… alive. I already know what you’re gonna say an –”

 

“Good, because you know I can’t do that, it’ll just provoke and encourage them to inflict more pain on my kid!” Tony was breathing heavily, he couldn’t stand the idea of playing into the video’s, but knowing Peter was still alive, and even the slightest chance they could get a location was better than nothing. Then again, if it backfired and he was hurt more… Tony couldn’t ever forgive himself for that. Steve’s hand was on his shoulder and he steadied his breathing, staring intently at the table as if it were the one who had stepped in and fucked up him and his kid’s lives.

 

“If Peter gets hurt more than already, or worse…” he looked up from the table, “you know I won’t come back from that.” Rhodey understood, he had met the kid more times than the rest of anyone else at the table, and he knew for a fact that if Tony lost him, he would never be the same.

 

“We won’t let… that happen” Steve said plainly, choosing to avoid the word ‘death’ just like the other man had. “Everything’s gonna be okay Tony.” He pressed his balled fists into his eyes until he saw stars, groaning loudly.

 

“Jesus… fine – but I… I don’t know, just – just get him home.” The genius didn’t know what he was saying, all he did know was that a week and three days was too much time.

 

“I’ve written the email already, all you have to do is read and send.” That was good, Natasha was the least emotionally involved here, most logical. He read it over, and although more mechanical and business-like than he would normally write, it cut to the point. He sent it, silently begging for some good to come from it.

 

\----

 

It was getting too hard to breathe, and if he was laid flat on the table he couldn’t get air into his lungs. Ryan noticed this and set up for the doctors to perform what he called ‘thoracentesis’ surgery, which would remove the excess fluid from between his lungs and chest wall. No surprise to Peter, he wasn’t granted anaesthesia for the procedure. He lay there and tried to will himself into unconsciousness as he felt the needle push through his skin. Trying to focus on the tickle of the cannula in his nose didn’t stop him from screaming. He passed out when he felt the needle grate against one of his ribs.

 

\----

 

Two days since his surgery and breathing was easier, but still laboured. Ryan decided that being able to breathe was a good enough reason to test his endurance overnight. The position he was chained in that night was by far, the worst. His neck was attached to the wall and wrists pulled taught above his head, if he wanted to breathe he had to hold himself up using his wrist chains to, effectively, do a pull up. If he dropped his wrists, his body weight would pull him down against the metal band around his throat, and he would suffocate. At least he didn’t get the sprinklers that night, he was to busy trying not to choke to fall asleep.

 

He remembers at some point during the night, his broken ankle cracked more under the strain of tip-toeing, and he swore he heard something in his neck snap as it was smashed brutally against the metal collar. The next day Ryan took photos of the harsh band line that surrounded his neck. Peter thought he might have altered the photos to make the purples and blues pop out, or maybe that was just what his skin looked like now. Bottom line was, he was too scared to ask a direct question, and he didn’t really care to know the answer, because either way it wouldn’t be what he wanted to hear.

 

\----

 

He was in so much pain that evening that the doctors took him back into the lab for emergency surgery.

 

“Why isn’t he in his cell?” Ryan was angry to say the least, eyes burning with the intent of letting the boy stay chained in his cell, slowly suffocating. His eyes raked over Peter’s form which was laid atop the table, lips beginning to turn purple from asphyxiation, weak, frantic, rapid breaths whistled through his airway but failed to actually give him any oxygen. He curled his fingers, reaching out weakly for Ryan’s wrist in an act of desperation and last resort.

 

“P – pl – please… I c… an’t – can’t br – breath.” His voice was weak, barely audible over the sounds of the doctors gathering equipment. Choked, raspy noises were coming from the suffering teen, his eyes began sliding into the back of his head and Ryan rolled his eyes, wagging a lazy finger at the doctors, barely casting a second glance at Peter as he moved to get the camera out. Ryan was relatively well versed in medical terms from his time spent at the old organisation, and he understood most of what the doctors were expressing. Well, he understood enough to know that the kid would die without medical attention.

 

“His hyoid is broken.” The horseshoe shaped bone between the jaw and the thyroid cartilage. At least he knew the new chains the kid had endured last night worked.

 

“We can’t reconstruct the bone because of the epiglottitis.” Huh, epiglottitis - would’ve been caused by the throat trauma, had made the tissue surrounding the windpipe inflamed. If he had been talking out loud he would have shrugged, as long as the subject was alive he didn’t give two fucks whether he could breathe on his own.

 

“I’ll intubate him, and we can leave it like that until the swelling goes away, so we can reconstruct the hyoid.”

 

“Give him fibreoptic intubation, I wanna get some photo’s.” If Peter’s shattered hyoid bone hadn’t stopped him from turning to look at Ryan, he would have. His eyes were wide in terror and the man couldn’t help but laugh as the spider realized he was about to be intubated without any medication or numbing shots.

 

“Sir… you are aware that fibreoptic intubation is on of the most invasive optio –” The doctor was swiftly cut off.

 

“Yes, I am very aware, why do you think I’m saying you’re doing it?” His voice was low in warning, and the doctor rushed to cut the tube to the right length.

 

Peter wanted to cry, he wanted to beg for anaesthetic, he wanted to scream and ask why he deserved this. What did he ever do to justify a vicious doctor shoving a tube down his throat while Ryan circled the table and took photos. No matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t. His lungs weren’t working, his throat wouldn’t let any air through, his head swam and all he could see was two of the doctors unravelling a tube. It was black and thin, but something told him that it would feel a lot bigger when the doctors forced it down his airway. Peter tried to stay calm, he wanted to stay still, he did. He tried to tell himself that once the tube was in, he would be able to breathe normally for the first time in, however long he’d been here. But he couldn’t.

 

Someone pulled two metal straps from the side of the table and began securing them over his forehead and collarbone. His head was never restrained. He felt claustrophobic, the metal was pressing down, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t move. Oh god, oh no, he didn’t like it, he couldn’t do this. He thrashed as much as he could under the bonds, which wasn’t enough, the most he could do was arch the curve of his back and rattle his ankle restraints. He tried to scream but the only noise that escaped his wrecked throat was a choked off gargling noise.

 

“Shh, Pete if the doctors are going to do this for you, no moving okay?” Ryan ran a thumb over his hairline and the straps stopped him from turning away from the touch.

 

“Oo… oo – n –” he coughed, it sounded more like he was drowning again. “Nnn… oo – n… o – no” he forced the words out, his throat burning with the effort of saying two letters. Ryan only smiled and snapped a photo of the bruised, pale, fractured lump that was Peter’s neck.

 

“We’re going to begin, so if you move too much or try to speak it could cause permanent damage to the windpipe and voice box.” He stilled his movements, but he continued to try and speak through the flames licking up his throat.

 

“If you keep talking we have gags in the store room” he resorted to a soft sniffle, trying to keep his mouth closed as the doctors leaned closer and closer.

 

“Open, or it won’t be pretty kid.” It wouldn’t be pretty any way, so he complied, letting his jaw fall slack as gloved fingers tugged at his chin. Fingers were holding his mouth open, stretching his cracked and split lips, using his bottom teeth as a grip. He felt something brush past his gums and he clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles cracked. His head was tilted so far back for the doctor’s ease of access that he wasn’t even able to try and take a breath. The tube touched the roof of his mouth, dragged down over the ridges and scraped against the sensitive skin near his uvula. He gagged strongly as it pushed past the back of his mouth and began to slide down his windpipe. It felt so much rougher than plastic, it grated against his trachea painfully and his throat convulsed on its own accord, squeezing the tube in place. He choked on it, his windpipe constricted, lungs spasming as tears began to form in the corner of his eyes.

 

He screamed, the raw, dry feeling increased tenfold, but he was crying now, his nose was stuffed and there was a tube halfway down his windpipe and he was getting zero oxygen. The doctors pushed on, the tube bending slightly and tearing the lining of his oesophagus. Warbled, choked, gagging sounds escaped from his tinged lips along with whimpers and moans of pain as the tube was shoved lower and lower. Fuck, he wished he had anaesthetic for this.

 

“Ugh, mm. Argh! Ah, ah gaah, aaa – D – aa – d! H… el – p.” Something was tearing, something was being ripped and torn and he still couldn’t breathe, and his vision was doing the fuzzy swimming thing as if he were looking through warped, tinted glass. Dad. Oh god please anyone help him. All he wanted was for this to end. He would take inability to suck in a full breath over this any day, he wanted to just pass out. He wanted to fall unconscious and never wake up from the procedure.

 

Shit. Had he really just though that? Had he seriously believed for a minute that dying was better than waiting for his Dad and enduring a little surgery? He really was breaking, fissures flashing through his cracked resolve.

 

“You want who?” Ryan’s face swam into view, the flash of the camera mottling his tears and blurring his vision even more. He felt another tug and actually saw the gritted teeth and brute force the doctor was using to shove past the twists and turns of his throat and dislodge the tubing.

 

“D… aa – ad” he whined pitifully, begging as much as he could with his eyes while his voice was held hostage by the black, snaking tube. Ryan barked a bitter laugh.

 

“What a pathetic fallacy… Daddy isn’t coming Peter, nobody cares enough about mutant freaks to even lift a finger.” He closed his eyes, resigning to just open his mouth wider and try to clear his nose.

 

When they were done, and the tube was in place, Peter couldn’t help but suck in air greedily again. It hurt to use his throat, to turn or move his head in any direction, to swallow, speak and even think at this point, but at least he had the freedom to breathe.

 

Ryan let his feet touch the ground that night, his legs stretched in front of him, back against the freezing tiles and wrists hanging loosely above him, elbows slightly angled and floppy. The position was so much better than the previous, he could have almost slept through the sprinklers.

 

\----

 

The next morning, he wasn’t on the metal table first thing, he was tied to a chair. It was more comfortable, but with his wrists pulled behind his back, his shoulder, which had been torn out of the socket a few nights ago, was burning. Ryan was doing something with his knee, but Peter was so tired he couldn’t really force himself to care. He would rather know what was going on with his body, how his wounds were healing and what new wounds were being cut, burnt or inserted into him. Sometimes, when they tested if he could heal around something, they just left the knives in him overnight. He had given up on trying to keep track of what was wrong with him, everything hurt, so it really made no difference anymore.

 

He moaned and let his head loll against the back of the chair, his eyes shutting, as if that would help the pain. Ryan was holding a small scalpel, and was digging around inside Peter’s knee, the same one he had originally taken the bone sample from. He panted and rested as much of his weight as he could on the chair, slumping as the scalpel was jabbed a bit more aggressively into the wound. The clanging of metal on metal made his head hurt as Ryan angrily dropped the tool to the table. He stood and rubbed at his brows. ‘Clearly, torturing a kid was hard work’ he thought bitterly to himself.

 

“Why aren’t you healing anymore?” He looked at Peter, as if scolding him. “You have accelerated healing, why’s it not working anymore, huh?” Ryan asked him pointedly as he lifted his head up from the chair, rolling it forward and wincing as his neck cracked in protest.

 

“Because I haven’t slept, ate, or drank enough in the past, what? Two, two and a bit weeks?” When he spoke, he could feel his voice box bob up against the tube still in his throat.

 

“A week and six days” Ryan corrected “It takes that long for your healing to stop if you aren’t being pampered by Dad? Please. Suck it up and don’t fucking complain.” Peter resigned to closing his mouth, resting his head back and closing his eyes as Ryan wandered across the room. He was tired, he was sore, he was hungry and thirsty, and he just wanted his Dad. All he wanted was his Dad.

 

“Hey!” He jerked as something dropped into his lap, “what did I tell you about sleeping?” It was a newspaper.

 

“Mm. Not to?” He mumbled sleepily, blinking slowly and staring down at the paper in his lap, the words fuzzy and unfocused to his tired eyes. Ryan propped the page up, so it was leaning against Peter’s jutting ribcage. He lazily trailed the man with his eyes as he stormed across the room and set a stand up, before mounting a camera onto it. “You gonna send it to m’ Dad?” He asked hopefully, wondering if tracing a video file was easier than photos and audio files.

 

“Shut up,” Ryan fiddled with the camera some more before hissing another order at Peter. “Say what I tell you to and nothing else, nothing. You hear me, if you say anything other than what I tell you too, I’d be glad to do a brain biopsy.” Peter closed his mouth, taking a sample of his leg, hip and shoulder bone was one thing, cutting through his skull and extracting brain tissue was another. He heard a beep and saw a flicker of red light before Ryan was speaking behind the camera, hiding out of frame like the coward he was.

 

“Today’s newspaper, a breathing Peter. Anything else you want to fucking demand?” His eyes swivelled to the boy who stayed still in the chair, a smirk creeping over his lips. “Say hi to Dad Pete.”

 

“Hey Mister Stark,” he managed a weak smile, trying to feign a sense of normality and good health for the camera. Ryan scowled from behind the screen, dragging a finger across his skull methodically in warning. Peter swallowed, his eyes darting from the man to the camera. “Uh… h – hey Dad…” Ryan hummed in praise.

 

“Mm. Good boy. That’s all, Stark.” He spat the name, like it tasted foul in his mouth, before shutting off the camera and stalking over to a now quivering Peter. “How hard is it to say Dad?” He shrugged, looking down at his lap as Ryan threw the paper aside. “Get rid of the tubing for the next test, the swelling’s gone down so they’ll fix the bone after this checkpoint on his lung capacity.” Someone gripped his hair and yanked his head back, exposing his bruised throat. The angle was used to their advantage and one of the guards pulled the pipe out, it was horrible. Taking the tube out was almost as bad as putting it in, it was quicker though, and Peter held his breath while they drew it out, saliva and blood trailing from the tube as they disposed of it. They didn’t even give him time to cough after it had been yanked roughly from his windpipe.

 

“He had the surgery, so we can take another test now,” two of the guards pulled him out of the chair and let him drop to the floor. Ryan packed away the camera and handed it off to the third guard as the other two pushed the tub forward. Fuck, again? He couldn’t do it all again, he didn’t have it in him. He could finally breathe without assistance and now it was going to be taken away again. Someone detached him from the chair and forced him to his knees, his head was spinning, and his eyesight was already shuddering like the strobe lighting in his cell. He cried out, his throat pounding with the volume of his pleading.

 

“Wait! We did that already, no, no, no –” He was shoved under the water without even getting to suck in a final breath. He struggled at first, but he was so weak, he didn’t bother fighting anymore, maybe if he let himself pass out quicker and didn’t try to hold his breath the migraine that followed would be less intense.

 

“4:32 Sir.” They pulled the limp form out with no care, his head thumped against the tile and they didn’t bother to shake him, just pressed the taser into his gut. He came to the same way as last time. He threw up for real this time, heaving out the single piece of bread he got and so much pure stomach acid, which burnt the scratches all up his throat, bloody spittle coated his lips. He felt feverish, crazed like an animal. A guttural wail that he didn’t register came from him, it bounced around the cell and the doctors lifted their gazes from their clipboards to look down at him.

 

“F – fuck this!” He shivered and his hair dripping beads of water down his face, soon mixing with his hot tears. “I hate this! Let me see my Dad, let me fucking… god – you – you’re sadistic! They’re gonna find me, I know they will.” He weakly kicked as the guard lifted him up under his arms, his shoulder popped but he didn’t care, he wanted his Dad, he wanted to scream, he wanted to kick something he wanted to throw a stupid scalpel at Ryan’s smug fucking face. “I hate you!” Ryan laughed as they strapped him back down to the table. He was crying, burning, angry tears streamed down his face and he yanked at the cuffs until his wrists were bleeding again. His whole body shook and vibrated in his distemper.

 

“You’re allowed to be angry spider.” Ryan was patronising him.

 

“I’m allowed to be anything I want.” He spat blood over the edge of the table, the surgery may have helped his breathing but that didn’t mean he wasn’t still coughing up blood every day or two. Ryan petted his hair and he lashed out with his teeth, trying more to get the hand off his head than to actually bite the man. Fingers jabbed at his neck, disturbing the bruises and cracked bones.

 

“Just another week or two and I’ll be done, you can go anywhere you want after that. Whatever you believe in.”

 

“I wanna go home” he said quietly, the doctors prepped more equipment and he didn’t even bother lifting his head to see what was happening. The mention of this all being over had softened his rage, and his anger ebbed away as thoughts of comfort swirled around him.

 

“If you think you go home when you die, that’s your choice.” That’s not what going home meant, when Ryan said that he would be done it had meant death. Peter didn’t want death, he wanted home and freedom. He slammed his head against the table harshly, lips quivering as tears fell into his hairline again. He wanted desperately to pass out before another procedure began.

 

“I don’t want to die… I want my Dad.”

 

There was the first snap of the glove, cut of the scalpel, scream torn from his still pained throat, then the familiar darkness over his lids. With the boy unconscious the doctors had to prop his jaw open with a surgical gag, if he had been awake he would have screamed.

 

\----

 

A week, six days. Three since they had sent the email, so two weeks and two days. Now they were getting the first video file.

 

“Fuck, if you open it and – and he’s getting hurt… if they fucking touch my kid again I don’t –” A steadying hand rested over his shoulder, the grip was firm and grounding.

 

“Tony, it’ll be okay. I swear on everything I will help you get that kid out of there, alright?” Steve stared at him intently, and he would have been intimidated if he hadn’t known him, but he did, and he felt better.

 

“F.R.I play video file, so everyone can see it.”

 

The screen lit in front of their eyes, Tony fumbled with his fingers nervously. The camera was of relative quality, not as high definition as the pictures, and the audio was slightly less clear than the video files. The frame was filled with clinically white tiles, and a dirty, blood covered teen chained to a chair. Sam and Rhodey breathed out a quiet curse at the sight of him, Nat and Clint sighed, both very familiar with the situation. Steve’s fingers tightened on Tony’s shoulder, the mechanic watched blankly, his breathing slowly picking up.

 

He looked the same as the pictures, the main difference was the tube taped down on his cheek and running past his lips and down his throat. His neck had a wide, contusion that at first glance, looked like a sort of collar surrounding his skin. It was dark and opaque enough to be mistaken as a band, but when the boy looked up at the camera, shifting his neck, the form moved with him. 

 

“What is that?” Tony was so busy staring at the screen that his brain didn’t bother to figure out who had spoken.

 

“A bruise, something was too tight around his neck” Natasha replied, her voice even despite the memories of her own plaguing her mind.

 

Peter’s eyes were blown wide in fear, pupils dilated and devoid of the usual hazel-brown hue. ‘It’s a concussion,’ Tony’s brain supplied. A dark, male voice sounded from somewhere close to the camera.

 

“Today’s newspaper, a breathing Peter. Anything else you want to fucking demand?” True to his word, there was a newspaper leaning against Peter’s ribcage, the date printed in large font on the front cover. The date was from three days ago, but at least now they could place Peter as alive on that date. “Say hi to Dad Pete.” The nickname made Tony’s gut wrench in distaste, the man who kidnapped and tortured his son had no fucking right to address Peter like that. He grit his teeth and his fists clench, eyebrows moving into a dark scowl.

 

Peter visibly straightened in the chair, chains rattling from behind him. His cracked lips pulled into a feeble smile, his eyes giving him away as they conveyed nothing but hurt and horror, and hope?

 

“Hey Mister Stark.” His voice was shaky, weak and broken, his words were fractured and raspy. It sounded more like “ey m… misdr trk” rather than anything discernible. He was so obviously in pain, it looked like breathing was an effort, his chest rose and fell unevenly, blood dripped from his curls and one of his lids was barely open from under the black eye. Despite everything, he was refusing to admit that Tony was his Dad, he was calling him what he did when he was in the presence of anyone who didn’t know. He was putting on a brave face for his Dad, he was pretending he was okay, that he was dealing with the pain and torture. He was so strong, so much more than Tony had ever wished a kid could be, and he was so, so, proud of his baby that he felt it in the gap of his chest that had been hollow since the first footage of Peter.

 

He moved forward, feet carrying him without permission from his brain. Steve’s hand fell from his shoulder and Rhodey watched with sad eyes as the first tear fell from his friends’ eyes. His hand reached out and laid against the screen, pressing over Peter’s cheek as if he were there to hold.

 

“My baby…” he whispered softly, fingers moving as if to brush the hair off his kid’s forehead and back into place. Another tear splashed on the ground next to his bare feet.

 

Peter’s eyes flickered away from the camera, to something behind it. His throat moved as if he was gulping, and his gaze moved back to the camera fearfully, filled with trepidation that could only mean one thing. Someone was behind the camera, threatening his child.

 

“Uh… h – hey Dad…” His voice was still cracked, and the syllables sounded muddled as if he were fading into sleep, but the clarity of terror in his eyes was too obvious and alert. He choked on a sob, leaning further into the screen, his shoulders resting against it, seeking comfort, searching for his kid’s warmth.

 

The person off-screen hummed in pleasure, recognising Peter’s compliance while making his Father feel sicker.

 

“Mm. Good boy. That’s all, Stark.” The feed cut off abruptly, leaving Tony pressed against a black screen, tears slipping from his eyes and lips trembling in an effort not to break. His name being spat in this context hurt, and the hole in his heart felt larger, every piece of evidence that his son was hurt carved into it deeper.

 

“You have received new files from the same source Sir, would you like me to display them for the room?”

 

“Tony are you sure it’s a good idea to –”

 

“Play, F.R.I.”

 

“Send them to us, I’m heading to the lab to see if I can trace the files… we won’t stand here and watch you do this to yourself Tony.” Clint, Natasha and Sam shuffled away, leaving Rhodey to step in-line with Steve, both of their eyes trained on the back of Tony’s head.

 

Two images were pulled up on the screen, one of them was a close-up shot of the bruised band line that had ran around Peter’s neck in the video. At the distance and quality of the photo, Tony could see how deep the bruise really was, he could see the indents that the brace had scored into the flesh, the small cuts and raw skin that tainted the normally soft skin. The second image was of Peter’s whole head, strapped down to a metal table, thick restraints clamped over his forehead and upper chest. They looked too tight, they dug into skin, pressing down over old and newer injuries. His eyes were squeezed closed, the waterline was wet with tears and his lips were pulled into a pained grimace, eyebrows, chin, cheeks and forehead scrunched and creased in distress. There were twisted, gnarled shadows that loomed over him, making his bruises seem darker, contouring the curves of his face, highlighting the bags under his eyes.

 

“Shall I play the attached audio file?”

 

“N –” Rhodey and Steve both spoke to answer the A.I, but neither rushed enough to speak over the desperate mechanic.

 

“Yes! Show me everything F.R.I.”

 

The screen went dark once again, and the audio clip began to play, the unmistakeable crinkle and background static sounded through the speakers.

 

There was the sound of bustling in the background, metal on metal, hurried footsteps moving closer and the breath of someone holding the recorder. An animalistic, wheezing, gargle sounded in the foreground and Tony knew it was the noises of someone trying to scream while being choked. He shoved his cheek against the screen, pulling his arms up and curling them under his chin and into his neck, a defensive and comforting position.

 

“Shh, Pete if the doctors are going to do this for you, no moving okay?” The fictitious comfort in the man’s voice didn’t mask the command to stay still. The gurgling, panicked noises increased and after a few agonising seconds, they turned into the sound of Peter trying to form words.

 

“Oo… oo – n –” a pause while he tried in vain to cough. “Nnn… oo – n… o – no” He was pleading, the tone was begging not refusing. His child was asking for whatever was about to happen to stop, he was asking, not denying, and that’s what hurt his heart the most. Peter was past the point of fighting things in fear, he was begging in desperation. He heard the snap of a camera, no doubt taking the picture that had been sent before.

 

“We’re going to begin, so if you move too much or try to speak it could cause permanent damage to the windpipe and voice box.” A new voice, presumably the people who were performing the torturous surgeries. Despite the warning, the pained noises of Peter trying to speak continued. In response to the disregard of the warning, there was an angry grunt and then the man holding the recorder spoke again.

 

“If you keep talking we have gags in the store room.” The threat cut the noises off, and the only sound Peter made was a small sniffle. The last time Tony heard his child make that noise was the month before he got his powers.

 

He was still curled up in his room, buried under a pile of blankets at the time he would normally be bounding out the door for school. Tony remembered sitting carefully on the edge of his bed and softly stroking comforting patterns into his son’s scalp, smiling when the boy made a quiet hum of content. An hour later and he was cradling Peter’s head in his lap, clutching a box of tissues and lazily thrumming his fingers up and down the teens spine as a movie played. He looked over in concern while Peter sniffled and rubbed at his red nose, nestling his body further into his Dad’s lap while the cold worked its way through his system. He was so small, so cute, so precious to Tony in those moments of vulnerability. He had never been one for physical affection, not even from Rhodey, Pepper and Happy. The only person he sought and offered closeness and comfort to, was Peter. All he wanted was to comfort his son, to hold him and chase away his pain, but all he got to do was push himself against a screen and listen helplessly as doctors and kidnappers made his baby gag and cry.

 

“Open, or it won’t be pretty kid.” The voice tore Tony out of his memories and brought him to the present, the present in which he was listening to his son asphyxiate and beg for the pain to stop. There was the noise of someone’s mouth opening, presumably Peter’s, and then focused quiet. He wanted to know what was happening, to understand why there were people forcing his son to open his mouth, but the screen stayed black. He couldn’t even hear Peter trying to breathe anymore, which is what scared him the most. If he strained his ears he could make out a wet scraping noise, like something bendy pushing against something soft and damp. Suddenly, there was a violent gag and Peter retched, restraints jingling in the background. The choking sounds continued, far worse than before, it wasn’t the noise of someone trying to breathe, it was the sound of something being forced down a throat. ‘Oh god,’ the video of Peter in the chair… he had a tube… ‘holy shit,’ he was listening to the video of his son being intubated while he was fully aware and conscious.

 

Peter screamed then, it was raw, suffocating and congested, the tube was obstructing his throat, it had to have been shoved down his windpipe. The sound of crying, of racking, broken sobs that were wrong and warped from the tube. Peter was whimpering, moaning and mewling as the doctors grunted with the effort to force the plastic down the airway. Tony sobbed too, leaning so forcefully into the screen that he wondered if it would crack under the pressure. He didn’t care, he had to be closer to Peter.

 

“Ugh, mm. Argh! Ah, ah gaah, aaa – D – aa – d! H… el – p.” Tony’s whole body froze, his heart felt like it stuttered to a stop, everything dropped. ‘Oh god… no. No that can’t – Peter was… he, he screamed for Dad.’ Peter screamed for his Dad, for Tony, Mr. Stark… It didn’t matter the variation of his title, he still recognised the fact that his son had cried out, seeking help from his Dad – who wasn’t there for him. He stumbled backwards a step, craning his neck to stare at the blank screen.

 

“Oh no, no. I’m here, Peter I’m here!” He laid the palms of his hands on the screen, not caring that he would leave marks. “Peter, baby I’m here… god, I – I’m here.” 

 

“You want who?” A click of the camera. The man recording everything spoke with a smile in his voice and Tony could hear, he could fucking hear how smug and enthralled he was. Even backed up from the speakers he could still hear the grunts of force the doctors made as they brutally jammed the tube further down Peter’s convulsing throat. He didn’t think he would reply, he didn’t think it would hurt so much the second time he begged.

 

“D… aa – ad” the meagre whine was so strained, and so full of sorrow and suffering. Tony felt himself crumbling, breaking – and so he did the last thing he could. He gripped the strongest emotion he had left, anger, and he swung with it as the sadistic laugh drifted through the speakers.

 

“What a pathetic fallacy… Daddy isn’t coming Peter, nobody cares enough about mutant freaks to even lift a finger.” The audio cut out and Tony was left, staring at his achromic reflection. With tears blinding his vision, he raised a fist behind his head, and threw it at the screen.

 

Steve darted forwards and gripped his wrists before he could shatter the glass, and subsequently his hand, like he had done before with the bathroom mirror.

 

“No! Get off me! I’m here, Pete, I’m here… please, let go – get off! He’s – he’s – they fucking intubated him while he was awake Steve!” He struggled, jerked his shoulders, swung his fists outwards, thrashing against the strong arms that encompassed him. He heard someone shushing him softly and as his last resort, to fight, deteriorated, he felt Steve turning him in his hold until his face was pressed against a shoulder.

 

“Tony it’s okay, everything’s gonna be alright, I promise.” Rhodey stood next to him and tried to reassure him quietly.

 

“No, no, no, no, no. It – it’s not okay… it’s never okay.” He snivelled and sunk to his knees, the arms around him adjusting and knees cracking as they bent. He folded in on himself, knees on the floor, feet underneath him, head in hands pressed into his lap.

 

“Hey, Rhodey’s right, it will be alright, you’re okay –”

 

“Damn it!” He slammed his open palms onto the floor harshly, ignoring the burn of the contact. “No, no! I’m not okay! It isn’t fucking alright. They have my kid Rodgers. They – he’s, he’s gonna kill the one person. The only person who’s been there for me. Every. Single. Time. Without fail, without doubt, Peter has always been there for me. After everything that I’ve gone through, every misery that boy has ever faced because of me. He was there, and now – now, the one time – one time, he needs me. I’m not there. I can’t be there. I’m trying to be there! But I’m not there for him. Now he’s going to die. They’re going to kill him, and I’m not there. My baby is gonna be alone, and afraid, and dead. All because of me.” At some point, he had begun to shed more tears, now he wiped at them hastily, “so no, Steve, I am not okay, and things are not alright.” His voice was softer, he felt a bit bad that he had snapped, but he was too tired to care. He stood shakily, “I – I’m going to bed. Just…” he sighed in defeat, “sorry. I’m just sorry. Can you brief everyone on the – the stuff they sent and uh, see if any of it’s traceable.” Steve nodded, accepting the apology and fully understanding the man’s temper, but himself and Rhodey still looked mildly hesitant to leave him alone. “I’ll be fine for tonight, I’m going to… sleep it off.” He turned, walked away until he was out of view, before padding to a stop outside the door he had been avoiding.

 

\----

 

That night, after his hyoid bone had been reconstructed, Peter was dumped back in his cell. He let his body hang limp as the guards manoeuvred him into his position for the night. His ankles were chained to the floor, away from the wall and on his knees. More restraints wrapped around from his elbows, spiralling down his arms and stopping at the wrists, which were attached to the ankle chains. With his hyoid fixed and the lack of a tube own his throat, Ryan thought it was safe enough to chain him by the neck again. The same, thick band was enclosed around his still bruised skin, and it hung from the ceiling, dangling at a height that forced Peter to arch his back and keep his chin up. He couldn’t sit back on his knees, because they were outstretched beneath him. His head was pulled back and up by the chains, so he didn’t see Ryan adjusting the temperature, or get warning when the lights and speakers started up again.

 

Once Ryan left the room, he made a beeline straight for the security office, sending the on-duty guard out to help clean up the lab and operating theatres. He switched between the three views, the high, wide-shot angle from the ceiling of the room, the lower, mid-shot angle directly in front, but out of Peter’s sight and finally, the close up of the boy’s face, which was a small, barely visible camera attached to the chains that hung from the ceiling. From that angle, you could see all the details of his face, every bruise, cut, taser burn and bloodstain. He smirked to himself and took the first three photos from the three angles. ‘Initial’ he murmured aloud as he stamped the photos with those exact words.

 

Peter was alert, his breathing was uncontrolled and shaky, he could see the puffs of air floating from his lips any time he breathed out. Not too long after he noticed his breathing, the shivering started. It was vigorous and intense, making his chains rattle loudly along with his quivering body. The sound would have hurt his ears, but the speakers were still blasting, and he could barely hear anything over the ringing in his ears. He shut his eyes against the lights and tried to curl in on himself as much as he could, to prevent the shivering, but he only made it worse by closing his eyes. The sprinklers were activated, and the freezing water assaulted his senses even more, his pants were soaked, and his skin and hair were drenched. He felt the cold seeping into his blood, veins and bones, his teeth chattered violently, and he kept his tongue out of the way. He thinks maybe he was whimpering and sobbing, but he couldn’t hear himself, so it didn’t matter.

 

Eventually, he grew confused and his consciousness was reduced to the point where he would continually forget where exactly he was. The most he could do was be grateful his shivering was diminishing slightly. When he tried to flex his fingers and toes to get blood flowing, he found he couldn’t, and his tongue felt limp in his mouth. He attempted to form words, but his brain to mouth coordination was askew, and even if he had been able to hear what he was saying, it wouldn’t have made sense. He couldn’t see much of himself, but his skin was so frozen he felt numb all over, and when he blinked, tiny flakes of frost dusted his cheeks, falling from his lashes in little, sparkling clouds. They were pretty, and he felt a strange sense of calm wash over him as he watched them glitter in his peripheral vision. Things were going well, he thought. His shivering had ceased, which he assumed was a good thing. The teen didn’t feel any warmer, but maybe that was just the numbness, or the strangely unrhythmic thumping in his chest.

 

The cell was slipping around him, but a weak smile still graced his lips. Everything was okay he told himself, the glittery ice felt nice on his cheeks, the thumping was calming down, and he was falling unconscious, which was always a nice way to avoid the pain.

 

After the boy’s eyes slid shut and the sprinklers doused him again, Ryan watched him sag in the restraints. He saw his taught muscles and took in the way he looked dead. He truly would be in good time, but for now, the experiment was over. He called time and shut off the water, stamped the last series of pictures, prepared them to be sent off to Stark, and took his time walking back to the cell. When he got there, he turned the temperature back to something survivable. By that point, it was early morning anyway, so he spent a minute unchaining the teen and taking another few pictures of his position on the ground. The metal table was rolled in soon enough and he was wheeled to the lab.

 

He was set up with warm intravenous fluids, which was just warmed salt water injected into his veins, airway rewarming, consisting of humidified oxygen through a mask and finally the blood rewarming, extracting, heating and re-injecting the warmer blood. When the boy came to he was barely awake, mumbling incomprehensible, broken words until he passed back out. He cried when he woke for the second time, whimpering soft pleas and reaching out for anyone close enough to touch.

 

“Mmm, no, no. P – please, t – to – too co… old. I wa – wan m’ Da… ad. Ple – ase.” He was stuttering, and the doctors pointed out that it was either the shivering, or possible brain damage. That just made the spider sob harder. “Dad, Da… ad. No, no, no, I – I can’t d – do this anymore, pl – please, please. Da – addy, sa… ave m – me. Dad? Hel – help, someone please. DaddydaddyhelpmepleaseIcan’tdoitanymore…” He whimpered in his sleep and balled his face in pain as the doctors continued to reheat his blood and administer warming packs to his feet, hands, chest, armpits and neck.

 

\----

 

Tony hovered outside the room, his fingertips brushing against the door handle as he hesitated.

 

“Sir, you have received three new attachments” he waved his hand gently “displaying now Sir.”  
Three images of Peter flashed before him, each more horrible than the next. The first was one that Tony had been expecting he would get, because he heard the photo being taken in the audio file of the intubation. Hearing it was gut wrenching, seeing it was petrifying. It had been taken mid-scream, Peter’s eyes were staring directly into the lens of the camera, his eyes were filled to the brim with tears, some already running down his cheeks. The flash of the photo reflected his tears, making them so much clearer and obvious. His lips were a deep blue on the outside, but the inside of his mouth was painted red with blood, which Tony thought must have been what made the gurgling noises. One of the arms holding the tubing was visible, the bicep muscle of the doctor was tensed, and it was clear how much force they were using to insert the plastic down his throat. Peter’s fingers were outstretched, as if he was reaching for a world where the pain didn’t exist. He was making the well-known gesture for ‘hold me’ and it shattered his heart when he realised that his kid was so starved of physical affection and a loving touch that he was beginning to seek it from anyone around him, including the people hurting him. It meant he was losing touch with reality, he didn’t know who was good and who was bad, what would help and what would hurt. There were gloved fingers holding his mouth open, stretching the flesh till it split, streaks of red shining through the blueish skin. The hands were pressed against his teeth, using them as a means of keeping his jaw locked and agape. There was a black tube halfway down his throat and it was so glaringly obvious how far down his neck it ran, because the plastic inside him made a bulging lump.

 

The second image was worse, because Tony knew first-hand exactly what had happened, and what it felt like. Peter was lying, soaked in water, on the tiled floor, unconscious and even bluer than during the intubation. In the background was a large tub filled with water, and two sets of data were scrawled across the side of it in black pen. 

 

‘Subject: Spider – 1st Duration: 6:47 – 2nd Duration: 4:32 – State After Duration: Unconscious’

 

His curls were more defined when they were wet, and Tony remembered how they looked after the ferry incident, or when he had just woken up and showered, when he was younger and ran in the rain. There were so many times his kid had been drenched, and almost every time he had a giddy smile plastered across his face. Why did it have to be like this? How could someone put a child through the same thing he had gone through in Afghanistan? What had the poor kid, and his Dad, ever done to deserve that?

 

The third picture was taken during surgery, and despite being passed out, Tony knew it wasn’t because they had given him anaesthetics, it was because the pain was too much. Peter’s body was, once again, chained down to the metal table, eyes closed but still scrunched in misery. He looked so small and fragile. His mouth was propped open with a surgical gag, and multiple instruments and tools were in the midst of digging around in his chin. The surgery, the drowning, the kidnapping was all too much for Tony, it was triggering too many repressed memories of his time with Ten Rings.

 

He transferred the images to a Stark Pad and floated to the labs in a dark haze, unable to conjure any feelings for the moment as his brain fully processed everything. He pushed open the door and was met with a sight and a sound that rattled his brain back into commission. The choking, gagging, gargling, screaming sobs were playing, Natasha and Clint analysing the audio, video and photographic sources they had while Sam was attempting to trace the email address – an easier task for a less experienced hacker. Steve was comforting Rhodey, who was just turning to look up at Tony as he walked into the room.

 

“Tony!” He jumped up and slammed his fingers down on the keypad, pausing and minimising all the screens. The mechanic softened his gaze and looked at his friend in thanks.

 

“It’s okay Rhodey, you don’t need to – it’s fine.” He flicked the images from his Stark Pad onto the, now cleared, screens. The three photos projected, and everyone looked even more disheartened at the discovery that more had been sent. “Those were sent a few minutes ago, thought I should let you know” he paused, looking down at his desk which had been empty for longer than it should have been. “I can help with the –”

 

“No! It’s okay Tones, go to bed, get some rest – please. We can sort this, you’re too… emotionally involved and it’s not fair on you.”

 

He nodded and exited the lab swiftly, turning away from the screens that held all the chance they had at finding his son. He didn’t even hesitate when he reached the same door, just pushed it open and walked in. His bare feet sunk into the soft carpet and his head spun at the smell of his child, of Peter. He leaned against the still unmade bed, ran his fingers along the dust that was beginning to settle over the bedside table and reached out for a pillow, burying his face into it and clutching it as if it were Peter. It was the closest thing he had to him at the moment. He clambered onto the bed and just, laid there. He stared up at the ceiling, rolled onto his side and looked at the wall. Tony shifted often, taking what felt like hours to relax.

 

Not long after deciding sleeping in Peter’s bed wasn’t going to happen, he carried himself to the desk, slumping down in the chair. He sighed heavily, and loose slips of paper ruffled in response. The pages were scribbled in new web fluid and suit designs, random and incomplete school notes, reminders and odd strings of information. He peered at the handwriting, loving the way it exuded an energy of motion, constant movement and excitement just like Peter always did. He absentmindedly flipped through textbooks and novels, old science journals and the Spider-Man colouring book that Ned had given Peter as a gag gift.

 

He didn’t realize the wetness on his cheeks were tears until hours later, when Rhodey came looking for him to regretfully tell him that none of the new files had any useful information on them, but that they would keep looking. He didn’t understand why Steve and Rhodey cared enough to walk him back to his room like a mental patient and assure he was buried under blankets before they left again. He didn’t know why his dreams were so strange and cryptic that night, or why when he woke up the next morning, he could remember hearing Peter calling him ‘Daddy’ for the first time since he was a baby.

 

\----

 

‘Hey, Petey!’ His amused but mildly concerned tone was whipped up by the pitter pattering of the rain. Lord save him if his kid didn’t show his little face soon, he smiled to himself as thunder clapped across the dark skies. ‘C’mon baby, it’s warmer inside and you can still watch the rain from the penthouse.’

 

A flash of wild hair bounded past his hip and he reached out on instinct, wrapping his arms around the smaller form and breaking into a wide grin as he heard even wilder giggling escape the boy’s mouth.

 

‘I like the water!’ Peter squirmed in his hold and he tucked the dripping body closer to his chest, sharing his body heat.

 

‘Ha-ha, I know you do buddy – but that doesn’t mean you can’t still enjoy the warm water of a shower from inside.’ He pressed a kiss against the temple and felt tiny hands curling around the back of his neck. A cold nose nuzzled against his pulse point and he hummed as he pulled Peter higher in his arms.

 

‘Can’t I play in the ran for a little longer please Daddy?’ Little feet swayed in the air and fingers interlocked behind his head.

 

‘Kinda sending mixed messages there baby – you wanna cuddle or run around in the rain?’ He pulled his head back to look down at the large-eyed, curly-haired and loveable face of his kid. His adorable nose wrinkled in deep thought, and Tony couldn’t help but admire the concentration and effort being put into his question.

 

‘Mm, both!’ He decided, after careful deliberation. He ruffled the boy’s hair and bent down, letting the short legs touch the floor. ‘Yay! I wanna see the lightening!’ He held Peter’s hand as he jumped onto a deck chair and looked up at the clouds expectedly.

 

‘Well sometimes you don’t see the lightning every time it rai –’ He was interrupted by a clap of thunder and a flash of lightening, Peter squealed and jumped into his arms, launching off the chair in excitement.

 

‘Daddy! Daddy, did you see that? Was that you?’ He cradled the young child in his arms and chuckled softly at the question.

 

‘Yeah I saw it, thanks for the implication but no, I don’t control the weather baby.’ He smiled wider as Peter mumbled something about ‘what’s an impacaton’ into the crook of his neck. He walked them both back inside, side-stepping the expensive rugs as they dripped rainwater on the floor. ‘Wanna nice, warm shower now buddy?’ He took the frantic bobbing of his head as a yes and carried the boy into the bathroom.

 

An hour later, they were both in warm, dry clothes and sitting in the penthouse. Peter had his hands and nose pressed firmly against the glass and was fogging up the view but didn’t care. Tony busied himself with watching the kid’s absolute infatuation for rain, rather than actually studying the droplets that fell against the window, blurring the lights of the city and warping the roof lights.

 

‘Love you Daddy, thanks for letting me play’ Peter’s soft voice was muffled slightly by the glass, but Tony caught the words well enough for the little warm pocket inside his chest to expand some more.

 

‘Love you too baby, thanks for not catching another cold.’ That night he rocked the child to sleep by the window and tucked him into bed after his enraptured breathes of awe became quiet snores. ‘Couldn’t have asked for anything more than you Petey’ he whispered as he pressed his lips to his son’s temple.

 

\----

 

Three days later, the photograph series Ryan had taken, and the new audio file was sent. Tony got the message during breakfast, Steve clapped him on the back when he coughed in his water.

 

“We should probably just take those ones to the lab, you shouldn’t have to deal with them anymore.” Sam was trying to be helpful, trying to make it easier on Tony, but nobody understood how important it was that he saw them.

 

“Well, it’s my kid, and my fault – so I’ll be checking them over first, thanks.” He pushed his plate away and ignored Rhodey when he slid it back.

 

“It is in no way, your fault Tony.” Everyone sounded tired, everyone was tired. The only person getting a somewhat normal amount of sleep was Clint, who managed to nap anytime, anywhere, when he wasn’t needed.

 

“Doesn’t matter, whatever they send, goes through me first. Bring them up F.R.I.”

 

Tony was so disassociated from the reality where Peter was hurt, that he couldn’t really process the several images that were pulled up on screen. Steve and Rhodey were there, expecting to have to catch him when it finally hit him, but it didn’t, not really. He just stared blankly up at the screen where Peter was chained, in various stages of hypothermia. His head hurt, and he felt tired, he wished he could sleep it off, but there was his son, just hanging there on the screen, blue-skinned, barely conscious, ice coating his eyelashes and looking dead already. He poked his plate with the fork lazily and slouched further back in his chair, wishing it would swallow him up. “Just play the audio,” nobody even tried to argue, just shuffled awkwardly in their seats.

 

“Mmm, no, no. P – please, t – to – too co… old. I wa – wan m’ Da… ad. Ple – ase.”

 

“The stuttering could be from the internal body temp, or he may have sustained brain damage, we’ll have to wait and see.”

 

“Dad, Da… ad. No, no, no, I – I can’t d – do this anymore, pl – please, please. Da – addy, sa… ave m – me. Dad? Hel – help, someone please. DaddydaddyhelpmepleaseIcan’tdoitanymore…”

 

“Huh…” he pursed his lips and nodded his head sadly, bottom lip quivering with the effort not to cry, “m’ just gonna head back to bed” he mumbled.

 

“We’re here to talk to… all of us are – you don’t have to try and be strong Ton –” He waved a hand in dismissal, looking away. He rubbed his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

 

“Nah, it’s just… just,” a dry, emotionless, forced laugh bubbled up his throat and he looked up at the ceiling, trying to keep his tears from falling while his laugh choked into a small sob. “Just… I’m just done Rodgers.” He wanted to go, but Natasha’s hand on his arm caught him.

 

“Those pictures were taken with security cameras, not a handheld one.” He rolled his eyes and slipped from her grip.

 

“Yeah, I got that, thanks. Seeing my son slowly freeze in HD quality was extra fun.” His voice was cold and sarcastic, but he just wanted to go back to bed and lie there, alone for a while.

 

“Shit, Nat you’re right. Stark get down to the labs with us, now!” Clint tugged on his sleeve and he followed, admittingly, he was mildly intrigued with what had worked the normally half-asleep archer up so much this early in the morning. Rhodey, Steve and Sam perked up more too, and the group practically sprinted to the labs with a frantic Clint and suspiciously level-headed and smirking Natasha leading the way.

 

“Clint, sort the audio and I’ll check the photos, Stark – get your shit together and clean yourself up, for Peter.” She gracefully jumped into the chair, twirling it around and hooking her boots under the desk to pull her in close to the keypad, where she began to jab away at it furiously. He looked down at himself and took in his ragged appearance, barefoot, unbrushed hair, still dressed what he ‘slept’ in.

 

“Sure, yeah whatever, just tell me what the fuck’s going on – is it Peter?” He hated how much hope he got from such little information, but he was holding on like a lifeline.

 

“If these photos were taken on a security camera, rather than a handheld one, we can figure out what building it’s operating in and track the signal.” She didn’t even look up from the computer as she spoke, her fingers blurring across the screens and tapping madly at strings of code.

 

“You – we trace… what? You’re telling me we have a solid lead right now?”

 

“If you shut up and let me concentrate on finding the signal, yes.” Something in him stirred. Rhodey placed a steady hand on his shoulder.

 

“I got it – I have the signal!”

 

“I told you we’d find him Tones.”

 

“Yeah, only took us two weeks and five days.”


	8. Say Goodbye and Saving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets one more experiment, and Ryan tells him it's his time to say goodbye. Tony doesn't let that happen - not in any reality would he ever let that happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaa - you guys! The amount of comments and positivity I received last chapter was staggering and it made me so, so, so happy! I worked so much on this update and I'm happy to say it's the largest chapter I've written so far (and yeah it is a little early but that's because I got so entrapped in writing it that my laptop had to be pried away from me).
> 
> I love each and every one of the comments you left and I made sure to reply to all of them. Any one of you who has read, bookmarked, commented or left kudos on this story is truly what makes me post on time (and sometimes early) each week.
> 
> Please leave all the comments and I hope you enjoy the fluffy, angsty, satisfying installment for tonight!
> 
> ~ P.S for Athena: Hi Yukiyo! ~ ---- (congrats to any of you who got that Marvel reference too)
> 
> <3

Dark. It was so, so dark. Cold, the only thing worse than the dark was how cold he felt. Everything felt numb, maybe all his nerves had frozen inside him and he couldn’t feel now? He knew that was stupid, but at least it was a stupid reality where he couldn’t feel any more pain. Well, that was clearly a lie, because if he concentrated enough he could feel the metal underneath him.

 

Huh.

 

Whenever he was on the table it only meant one thing. More fucking experiments.

 

Peter remembered what he mumbled before he passed out. ‘I can’t do it anymore.’ He couldn’t even bring himself to care that Ryan probably enjoyed hearing that, because it meant he had broken. He had admitted he couldn’t do this anymore, Ryan heard him, he was probably only a day or two away from death anyway.

 

He had two schools of thought. One, death meant no more pain, no more suffering. No more cold, or surgery, or blood, bruises, broken bones, dislocated shoulders, horribly mocking soft touches and hands in his hair. He knew, deep down, that what he had cried was true, he really couldn’t do it anymore. Physically and mentally there was not much more he could take. On the other hand, two, was just one word. Dad.

 

Dad. Dad would come, Dad would take him home, make the pain go away, wash away all the touches that reminded Peter of himself with just one brush of his fingers through curls. His Dad had promised to always be there, and the helpless teen believed him, he knew with all his heart that his Dad would sooner fly into another hole in the sky then break that promise. That was a tad contradicting, because for a brief moment all those years ago, when Peter was staring up at the news and watching Iron Man fly that missile into the sky, he wondered if his Dad would come back down and be there for him again.

 

Everything that had happened since then, the spider bite, what the media dubbed as ‘the civil war’ and the Vulture, it all only solidified the trust Peter had in his Dad. He fully believed that if he just held on a little bit longer, his Dad would save him and get him away from Ryan, his cell, the speakers, the lights, the surgeries, the doctors, the guards, the tubes, the chains, the stupid, cold, metal table.

 

Maybe, the teen hoped, just maybe his Dad would burst through the doors in a flurry of red and gold metal when he managed to open his eyes. Maybe his Dad was on his way right now.

 

He summoned the courage and the strength, and he forced his eyes open. It was bright, too bright, and the pain in his head pounded away even stronger than before. Everything was still clinically white and clean, the doctors still stood to the side and scribbled their notes, two guards still stood by the door, Ryan still regarded him with the same grey eyes and Peter was still chained to the metal table.

 

‘Please get here soon Dad. I can’t hold on much longer…’

 

\----

 

‘I’m coming Pete. I swear I’m not far away, I know where you are, and I am coming – just like I promised…’

 

Nat had forced him back to his room to wash his face and change his clothes before they started discussing any sort of plan. Tony wasn’t going to lie, the argument he put up probably ate up just as much time as it would have taken to just have cleaned himself up a bit.

 

His mind was reeling. They actually knew where his son was. An old, abandoned science building in Bridgeport – which was only an hour and twenty-minute drive from the tower, or half an hour in the Quinjet. That was his mantra now, if all else fails and the plan goes to shit he was only half an hour away from Peter. So close, he was so close to saving him. After two weeks and five days, he was finally getting him out of there.

 

“Let’s go.” He tried to sound as steady as he could, but his voice only managed to convey how much hope and terror there was inside him. The mere prospect that he was getting Peter back was amazing, but he still had so much fear, that little voice in his head was asking ‘what if you’re too late? He could already be gone.’ Gone in two ways, gone in the sense that the boy could already be dead. He had looked it in the photos, who was to say that they couldn’t bring him back from the hypothermia? Or, bad in a different sense, if he were gone in the way where he had been broken? What if they had hurt him so much that he had given up all hope, despairing…

 

Being haunted by a past trauma was one thing, being utterly ruined and never coming back from it was another. Tony knew Peter was strong, the boy had so much fortitude and tenacity, but from everything that had been sent so far, he had a sliver of fear in the back of his head that whispered, ‘he could be broken,’ ‘if Afghanistan ruined you as much as it did, imagine what this could have done to Peter.’ 

 

“We can’t go yet Tony.” Steve was calm, he knew how much the mechanic was going to push back on this, if logic wouldn’t get through to him then he would have to appeal with an emotional response. He was hesitant to do so, the man was fragile at best, which was completely understandable given the situation. His son had been kidnapped and tortured for nearly three weeks and he finally had the opportunity to get him back.

 

“Why the hell are we waiting – slightly pressed for time here Cap?” His eyes weren’t wild, but they did contain a primitive, paternal need to save his kid.

 

“We need a plan, some sort of structure to the rescue, this is a serious mission and we can’t just show up, guns blazing, and expect everything to go accordingly.” Logical and calm, explain to the desperate hero that this had to be a strategic recovery.

 

“We can formulate things in the jet, we gotta go now.” Nat stepped forward, her face was a mask of placid emotion.

 

“That is one of the things we’re discussing – do you know how attention drawing the Avengers transportation vehicle in Bridgeport would be? This has to be critical Stark, we have to use the element of surprise on this or it won’t be successful.” Cool, calculating Natasha, always the diffuser of a situation.

 

“Okay, I understand that – but Peter can’t wait anymore. Every minute counts here.”

 

“Tony, if we bust into the building without any sort of plan then it’s not going to end well. Peter deserves a rescue that won’t make things any worse than they already are.”

 

“What exactly are you implying Romanoff?”

 

“If whoever took him realises that he’s got no other options, what do you think his first choice will be to get us to stop? He’ll go straight for the kid, use him as leverage.” 

 

“The cliché ‘take one more step and he gets it.’ Nat’s right, we need to put some something in place to follow.” Clint added on, and it wasn’t the most helpful thing to make the already panicky Father picture his son with a gun held to his head.

 

“Jesus, yeah fine – just… we have to go fast, they could be doing anything to him right now.” The worry in his tone dropped off into poignancy, and Steve felt slightly remorseful for choosing the emotive route in their convincing.

 

Tony slid into a chair and leaned forward, his leg bouncing and chin resting on his clasped fists. “So, if we don’t use the Quinjet and we’re aiming for inconspicuous, we’ll have to go in cars. But he’s obviously going to need immediate medical attention – getting him back here as quickly as possible is priority.” He slipped into a slightly more analytical mindset, focusing as much of his mind on planning as possible.

 

“Clint could fly the jet over as soon as you get eyes on him, it’s only a thirty minutes flight and I’m guessing it’ll take minimum that much time to get him out.” Rhodey was about as calculating as Tony was trying to be, and his suggestion received multiple nods of agreement.

 

“Cars to get there, element of surprise, get eyes on the kid, Clint flies the jet over, in and out, immediate medical attention. Sounds like a plan.” Steve was listing everything off on his fingers, and when he finished everyone stood, considering, before Tony stood and spoke up again.

 

“Alright, everyone get everything you need and get in a car that doesn’t look too attention drawing. Let’s go save my kid.” His eyes were steely with determination, and as the suit enveloped him, the glowing blue light seemed even more resolute and unwavering in the statement. Peter was coming home.

 

\----

 

“Are you done?” Ryan’s voice sounded far away, blurry and clouded by something. Maybe he was passing out again, maybe it was just a bad dream and he hadn’t even opened his eyes yet, or maybe he was just going deaf from the speakers. If worst came to worst, he could get Clint to teach him sign language. Either way, it was a direct question, and he knew he had to answer or it would mean more pain.

 

“I d – don’ know wha’ you mean…” His voice was incredibly faint, and his ‘t’s’ were so quiet they practically weren’t there, maybe he was developing a stutter from the trauma of everything, maybe it was from the cold or the doctors were right, and he had brain damage. He could barely hear himself speak, it just felt like vibrations in his skull, it reminded him of his Spidey-senses. Peter wasn’t sure if they were always buzzing because he was in constant danger, or if they had just given up like the rest of his senses seemed to. Everything was too bright, no noise was clear enough to understand well, all he could feel was pain, all he could taste was his own blood and the only things he smelt was iron, from all the blood, and sterile antiseptic.

 

“Are you done, with the whining, and the passing out and crying for Dad? Huh, because all it’s doing is making you look more pathetic and pissing me off.” As much as it was satisfying seeing the latest subject broken, the crying and the begging for the pain to stop – the spider was irritatingly stubborn in the belief that his Dad was coming to save him. “I’m sick of it, get it through your head that Dad isn’t coming Pete, you’re going to die here.”

 

“N – no. He is c – co – comin’ for me.” He shook his head weakly and closed his eyes against the onslaught of tears threatening to spill at the notion of his Dad not coming for him.

 

“For god’s sake!” Ryan’s hands slammed down on the metal table, inches away from Peter’s ears. Everything seemed to fall back into place as his hearing crashed back. With every sound dialled up to eleven, the slightest noise sent painful waves rocking through his skull. He whimpered quietly, scrunching his face and attempting to curl into himself as much as he could, the most he achieved was hunching his shoulders and ducking his neck slightly. It all seemed to aggravate his wounds and it hurt, so much. He was being thrown between bouts of deprivation and overload, his sensitivity to light and sound had always been an issue in the normal world. Despite how they worked in his favour as the red and blue clad vigilante, having increased senses was hell for a teenager stuck in high school and on the streets of Midtown Manhattan. Cars, screaming kids, the bustle of the trains and even just the scratch of pens on paper and the turn of a page made him cringe. “Fucking hell kid! Daddy isn’t saving you.”

 

He leaned in closer and Peter felt his breath over his skin, it was warm, and he wanted to cling to any warmth he could get, but it was Ryan, and he wanted to be as far away from his as humanly possible. “Dad. Doesn’t. Care. Think about how smart Stark is, think about how much power Iron Man has, especially when he’s teamed up with all of his Avenger buddies. If they were really that special, then they would have busted me a long time ago. Face it Spider, he couldn’t give two fucks about a freak like you.”

 

He wanted to say back that there was no way that was true, because he knew his Dad loved him, but he was so terrified of being punished that he just kept his mouth shut. “That’s what I thought, nothing to say to that.” Just because he didn’t have an argument doesn’t mean Ryan was right. He would have said that, but once again, the threat of more pain was constantly looming over his head.

 

“P – please jus’… jus’ stop.” He wanted to sink into the table and come out again when his Dad got here, no matter how cold the slab of metal under him felt, if it swallowed him whole just like how the darkness so often did he would be content. There was no pain when the darkness consumed him.

 

“You only want me to stop because you know it’s true.” His breath was hot on Peter’s ear and it rustled his hair, which was much longer since he had last seen his Dad and – oh.

 

Oh.

 

Ouch, it really hurt. ‘I miss my Dad’. How much he missed his Dad really hurt. ‘Just make everything better.’

 

“M’ sorry… jus’ wanna go h – home and see m’ Dad again.”

 

“That’s alright Spider just let go because you likely won’t be seeing him before you outlive your usefulness to me.” Peter felt his hands shaking and a lone tear trailed down his cheek as he untucked his chin and fell as limp as he could, begging whatever being was out there to just let him fall away into the table. Ryan swirled a curl around his fingers and watched as the teen tried to force himself into unconsciousness by focusing on the pain. “I’ll leave you to that while I set up the next test, but only because there’s just two or three more I need before you’re done.”

 

“I don’ wanna be done. Please do – don’ kill me.” Ryan smiled, and it was genuine, which was really the most unsettling thing about it. He gained real pleasure from hurting someone to the point where they begged for their life. Calling him a fucked-up person would be an understatement, Deadpool got it right when he coined ‘sadistic fuck’ so Peter stuck with that in his head. Never out loud, he was too scared, too intimidated by the idea of talking back anymore so he stayed quiet, spoke when asked direct questions and complied. He hated himself for complying like he said he would never, it just highlighted how much more pathetic and afraid he was than his Dad or any real hero. Why couldn’t he just be strong like his Dad? 

 

‘Because you’re scared to die’ his mind helpfully supplied, and it wasn’t wrong. Peter was terrified of death, at least in this way, without getting to say goodbye – he didn’t even say ‘I love you’ before leaving for school that morning. He would do anything to just go back and say it, three words that made him feel that much better, and maybe, maybe, if he could tell his Dad one last time how much he loved him, and how much he’d miss him, maybe then dying here wouldn’t be so scary.

 

“You’re dying here Peter, you aren’t ever leaving, just like the rest of them. Accept it and move on.” A few more tears and he had lost the tiny amount of restraint he had left. Ryan was moving things around with the guards’ help and he didn’t even try to open his eyes when he whispered into the lab softly.

 

“Dad, if you can hear me somehow… I – I love you.” He tried to tell himself that as long as he had hope, he wasn’t broken, but his groggy and unfocused mind as slipping away from him and all he could think about was the notion of home.

 

He was sharply tugged from the recesses of his mind when freezing bond were secured over him. They clamped just below his elbows, knees and shoulders, joining the ones that were pressed against his wrists and ankles. A thicker band laced around his temples and neck, much like the one in his cell, and another two over his chest and waistline. Never before had he needed this many restrains, and it made no sense because he was weaker now, more than ever. Peter wondered why Ryan and the doctors thought he should have more cuffs for this experiment, maybe it was the worst, maybe he would be in so much pain that he needed something extra to hold him down. He shivered inadvertently at the thought but could barely move under the cool metal that was biting painfully into his skin.

 

“You can move around as much as you want, they won’t give.” Peter whimpered some more and tugged at the restraints, beginning to feel more and more claustrophobic under their tight hold they had on him.

 

“W – wh – why?” Ryan smirked and shook his head slowly, amused by the boy’s confusion.

 

“Because I can, and because you’ll need them for this one.” He felt sick, there was a feeling bubbling in his stomach and he was sure that if his Spidey-senses had been working properly, they would be screaming danger. He willed his eyes open out of pure worry for what he would see.

 

A larger second table sat a few feet away from his own, and a large, black box with multiple coloured wires snaking from its inside. The cords ran down and on the ends were metal clamps with jagged, serrated teeth. It reminded him vaguely of the bone saw that Ryan used for the biopsy’s. On the front side of the box there were multiple dials that ranged from zero to eight, all of the knobs were angled toward the zero and the entirety of the box was turned off. There were two extension cables that connected the box to electrical plugs and both of them trailed along the floor into the corner of the lab. Although Peter couldn’t move his head due to the metal wrapped over his forehead and neck, he assumed they connected to separate plugs in the wall.

 

“What is th – this one… w – wha’s gonna happen?” Ryan didn’t answer, too busy fiddling with the wires and cords attached to the box to respond. One of the doctors was jotting something down that must have been written on the side. Peter’s eyes slipped shut again on their own accord and he felt dizzy for the exertion of keeping them open for so long. He was so tired, and so drained of energy that it took up all his strength to just open and shut his eyes, so the idea of struggling with his bonds was farfetched, to say the least.

 

“Technically, Spider, this is the last real experiment we’re doing so after this it doesn’t matter too much if you die or not. There are one or two more experiments that don’t matter and then we really don’t need you anymore.” His implications were horrible, and pure fear was coursing though the teen, he would be wide-eyed if he had the energy to open them. Even closed, he could feel the hot burn of unshed tears. “Remember your first day, you said your Dad was coming and he wouldn’t let us kill or break you?” He moaned in response and it seemed to be enough for Ryan. “Yeah, I bet you feel naïve now… no matter hat you were always going to end up like the rest of the subjects.”

 

Peter could feel the tears now, they fell past his lashes and ran their paths down his cheeks, just like how they did almost every night as he thought of home and tried to stay awake enough to avoid the sprinklers.

 

“I don’ w – wanna die… please. Please don’ k – kill me.” Ryan tutted from somewhere above him and he heard the sound of the table’s wheels rolling across the tiles stained in his blood. He heard humming, and it was the most casual and nonchalant noise and it ached how much it reminded Peter of his Dad.

 

\---

 

‘Hi Dad,’ he dropped his bag at his feet and leaned in to hug Tony tightly.

 

‘Hey Underoos, how was school? Nail that physics test?’ Peter sighed heavily and fell back onto the couch, sinking himself into the cushions as far as they would possibly allow. The mechanic bent down beside him and reached a hand into his curls, scratching through them lazily. He hummed softly in understanding and continued to card his fingers through his son’s soft hair.

 

‘I did the test and it was pretty easy, but my day still sucked.’ His voice was muffled from where it was currently stuffed into the couch.

 

‘Mmmm, why’s that?’ Peter shuffled where he was laying, and the fingers dislodged from his hair as he repositioned himself. He turned to face his Dad and stared up at him, lashes fluttering as Tony diverted his distracted eyes over the purple mass surrounding it. ‘What the hell happened Pete?’ He sat, moving the teens feet aside as he leaned in and gingerly ran careful fingers over the wound, checking for cuts. The boy in question dropped his gaze and picked guiltily at his cuticles.

 

‘Just… Flash again.’ It was Tony’s turn to sigh as he brushed a stray curl from Peter’s forehead and angled his chin to the light, so he could assess the damage better. The bruise wasn’t serious, but the edges were turning a slight shade of green while the rest was an uneven shadow of purple.

 

‘I though you said he was starting to back off a bit?’ His brow was set in a frown as he stood to retrieve an icepack, but lying under the layer of annoyance the teen knew was a hoard of concern and worry.

 

‘Well he was, for a bit… I – I don’t know I guess I just ticked him off earlier today.’ He winced as Tony lightly pressed the icepack down on the wound, and he lifted up his own hand to take it from the man and hold it himself.

 

‘What did you do, mouth off? I was under the impression you didn’t mouth off to Flash, because you’re so busy saving all your sass for me.’ His humour veiled his concern for the boy, and this being the fourth time he had come home with a bruise from the bully was beginning to make him distraught.

 

‘No, no I didn’t mouth off, I didn’t even say anything to him – I just…’ he rubbed the unblemished side of his face worriedly before continuing. ‘I just… scored an 89 on the bio test this morning so he – I don’t know he must just get jealous and maybe I was too happy when I told Ned, because I mean I didn’t really think I did that well and he must have thought I was bragging and –’

 

‘Hey, hey, hey Pete, you’re rambling again.’ He closed his mouth and took a tired breath, leaning back against the couch while Tony leant forward and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. ‘Is that all that you did? You just scored better than him on a test?’ Peter nodded solemnly, instinctively leaning into his Father’s warm touch. ‘If all you did to warrant this –’ he gestured to Peter’s black eye, ‘then that kid is seriously a dick, and you need to know this isn’t in any way your fault, hm?’ He smiled and curled into his Dad’s torso, breathing in the smell of the workshop and coffee.

 

‘Yeah, I know it’s just… I guess I still feel bad, he has to be doing it cus he’s insecure about his intelligence, right?’ Tony huffed a laugh from above him, pulling his son closer impulsively and pressing his smile into the boy’s mop of wavy hair,

 

‘Oh Petey, so righteous aren’t you – always the one to give the blame of the doubt.’ He rolled his eyes from where he was huddled in the steady chest, opting to listen to the thump of heartbeats.

 

‘Yeah Dad, I’m suuuuuch a hero, aren’t I?’ He returned Tony’s sarcasm perfectly, executing the playful tone the way he had heard his Father so many times before.

 

‘You are to me baby, you are to me.’ He pressed his lips against Peter’s temple and squeezed him tight before sitting him up again. ‘Now, go change out of those school clothes and into pyjama’s or something while I sort dinner.’ He pushed him away from the couch and watched fondly as his kid shuffled down to his room, dragging his feet behind him as he did so.

 

Barely two hours later there was a groggy teen slumped against Tony’s chest again and two emptied pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table, a quiet TV rustling in the background.

 

‘Mm, tired?’ Peter mumbled something in affirmation. ‘Glad it’s Friday then huh? Wanna help out in the lab again tomorrow or do you have homework?’

 

‘Laaaab’ the half-asleep boy slurred.

 

‘Mkay then’ he said through a poorly concealed laugh. ‘Get some sleep, I’m changing the channel to something less newsy and more documentary.’ Peter made a high-pitched, contented noise in the back of his throat and snuggled closer into his Dad, smiling against his soft, grey shirt. His hands rested on the shirt, wrapped in the fabric, his head rested just below the shoulder, ear over the heart and eyes lightly closed. Tony hummed happily and the lulling vibrations deep in his Father’s chest combined with the fingers once again intertwined and scratching at his scalp slowly settled him into sleep.

 

\----

 

Peter stared anxiously at the clamps, there were two pairs and another two which had circular disks at the end of them. The humming he had heard was Ryan’s way of imitating the audible buzz of electricity there was when the box was switched on.

 

“No, p – please, please. I don’ wan’ to be e – electrocu’ed.” He used all his energy to lift a finger on the hand closest to Ryan, in a pleading, desperate attempt of reaching out.

 

“Well too fucking bad, it need to be done.” He sniffled loudly, and his chest rose and fell unevenly, and Peter recognised that he was working himself into an anxiety attack but staying as quiet as he could in the hope of being unnoticed and fearful of punishment.

 

“Sir, if his heart stops should we revive him?” Peter let out a frightened intake of breath and whimpered as he held back sobs.

 

“No, no, no, no. Ple – please I don’ wanna die, please don’ kill me… don’ make my heart st – stop, please. Please.” Tears were openly flowing down his face now and his chest fluttered in tune to the gasping, panicked breaths he was trying to take. He cried out when Ryan’s fist slammed down next to his head.

 

“Revive him – but only so we can continue to experiment. He doesn’t die during this one, any of the following ones he can though.” His eyes were locked onto Peter’s and the grey in them caught the light and served to only emphasize the sadistic glint in them.

 

“No! No, please. Please no, don’ – don’ h – hurt me anymore I can’… I don’ wanna go. Pl – please, Please Ryan no, no, nonononono.”

 

“Then tell me why! Huh? Why don’t you want to fucking die Peter? Explain to me!” He choked on a broken sob and took heaving, not exactly steadying, breaths.

 

“B – because I… I wanna see m’ Dad and I wan’ see my friends, n’ finish school n’ grow up an’ be Spider-man an’ – an’ I jus… I don’ wanna die yet, I – I…” A fractured, cough-like sob retched up the back of his throat and a small amount of blood coated the inside of his mouth, tinting the inside of his lips as he spoke. “I wanna eat pizza with m’ Dad n’ go to school n’ sit with m’ friends. I wanna do tests an’ get pushed around by Flash n’ see the Avengers and train with m’ Dad… I jus’ wan’ my Dad. Please, I don’ wanna go, I won’ leave him alone, I gotta pro’ect the ci’y an’ be Spider-man n’ jus’ be with m’ Dad. Please, I wan’ Daddy… I – I don’ wanna die yet.” Ryan looked so pleased and satisfied with himself as he leaned in, pressing his face beside Peter’s ear and whispered to him privately.

 

“You should probably prepare for your goodbyes Spider, this is going to hurt.” He hadn’t even noticed the doctors clipping the metal clamps to his feet and hands, but when Ryan pressed the rough surface of the plates against his temples he did. He sucked in three more hysterical breaths before stuttering a final sentence.

 

“D – Dad, Daddy I… I love you an’ – an’ m’ sorry, m’ so sorry.”

 

“How sweet, I’ll be sure to let Daddy hear that,” Ryan cooed above him as he adjusted his grip on the plates, forcing them further against Peter’s trembling form.

 

When they switched the box’s power on he didn’t feel anything for a moment. Then, his mind finally caught up with his body and the pain registered, he realised it was him that was screaming. Honestly, the boy didn’t know or understand ho he was capable of making those purely guttural, pained noises with the state his throat was in – courtesy of the intubation. The pain was so much worse than anything, it was worse than the intubation, the speakers, lights, bone biopsy’s, drowning, preliminary healing test, broken bones, bruises, everything, anything. It was absolutely the most excruciating thing Peter had ever experienced in his entire life. The sensation was white hot, blinding, burning spasm. He convulsed, and the paroxysm of agony made his once weak body thrash against the restraints. Somewhere, through the mind-numbing pain, Peter understood why he needed the extra bonds and cuffs, because although he had felt so useless and helpless beforehand, he probably would have snapped the wrist and ankle restraints.

 

Electricity flowed through the teen and made his once still body struggle and writhe with the current, and fight against the bonds. His struggling combined with the voltage reopened all his wounds and the strength he was using to yank at the metal was slicing open his flesh. The noises he was making was animalistic at best, they came out gurgled and warped through his misused and injured throat. They weren’t even on the highest setting and Ryan couldn’t tell if Peter was consciously fighting the electricity, or if he had passed out and the convulsing was just the current passing through him. He twisted the knobs back down to zero and watched as the boy’s body stilled.

 

His bruised chest rose and fell hurriedly, the blood from his re-opened wounds was joined by a sheen of sweat, likely caused by the exertion of struggling. The plates and clamps where the box made contact with his skin had left small burn marks, which weren’t deep but they were patterned by the jagged teeth. Peter was conscious, and his eyes were wide and terror-filled, his lips were parted and the amount blood from earlier had increased from all his screaming. The band across his neck was so buried in the flesh that was so bruised it was practically black, and blood was dripping around the wound, slicking the metal in a sickly coat. He had tried to lift his head up from the table, but the most he could succeed was arching his back, mere inches. It made sense why he had fought against the bonds, the amount of pain he must have been in accounted for how he managed to summon the energy to do more than blink and lift a single finger.

 

The taser had been unpleasant, and powerful enough to knock him to the floor of the warehouse, but the level of pain the box had induced was unimaginable. Sure, Peter had expected a likely unmanageable amount of injuries and aches when he first realised he had powers, or when he really became Spider-Man, but this was more than any being should ever, in a thousand lives, ever have to endure. ‘Nobody deserves this.’

 

“We’ll do more this time, he can take it.” Ryan was talking to the doctors over Peter’s body, his grp on the plates was loose, casual, as if he weren’t holding something capable of creating the worst agony imaginable. It took his frayed mind awhile to process what was being said, and what the words meant.

 

“Oo – o… N – o. No.” It was surprising, how hard he found it to form words. His lips wouldn’t move, and his tongue sat uselessly in his mouth, his brain knew what he wanted to say but it wasn’t making the sounds like it should have. ‘Oh god what if I’m brain damaged? How will I talk to Dad?’

 

Dad. Daddy…

 

\----

 

Tony bounced his leg intensively, biting at his thumb nail and watching the New York skyscrapers dissolve into bleak highways outside the window. Rhodey craned his neck to watch the anxious man from the passenger seat, exchanging a quick look with Steve before he turned back to the road, pressing his lips into a taught, vaguely encouraging smile.

 

“How much long –”

 

“Still an hour Tones.” He sighed and leaned further forward in his seat, hating how long the drive was taking. He turned to see Nat and Sam trailing a few cars behind them and he shuffled in place, his restless energy translating into constant repositioning and movement.

 

“W –”

 

“Tony, I get it, you’re feeling restless right now, but if you’re about to ask when we’re going to arrive I swear to god…”

 

“Okay, okay. I just – I don’t know, what if he’s worse than the photos and videos show? How the hell am I going to deal with that?” He bit his lip and ran a hand through his hair rapidly.

 

“The same as I’m sure you always do when Peter gets hurt, keep calm and just be there for him.”

 

“I – Cap this situation is a bit different to when he’d fall over or cut his finger…”

 

“The same principle applies,” Steve replied calmly.

 

“I… Yeah – I think I’m just going to call Cho and notify her of the, uh… of the condition he might be in and make sure she’s prepared.” He did just that, and she was as professional and understanding as he remembered her to be, despite the fact that she still believed Peter was just an intern to Tony.

 

He turned back to face the window, watching as more building silhouettes and highway signs flitted past. He sighed and fiddled with the seatbelt before switching on a Stark Pad and looking into the history of the building the security camera photographs had come from. It was in Bridgeport, of course, and according to the records Tony was able to dig up, it had previously been a scientific research centre, before it was shut down and subsequently abandoned years ago. With no currently listed owner of the building, he assumed it was being occupied illegally, which really made no difference considering the fact that kidnapping, experimenting and torturing a minor – not to mention Tony Stark’s son – was pretty illegal on its own. He figured Natasha would have no qualms against being put in charge of the interrogation of the piece of shit who decided hurting Peter was a good idea.

 

“We’re three quarters of an hour away.” He looked up at the rear-view mirror and locked eyes with Rhodey and nodding curtly, shuffling in his seat once again, beginning to bounce his leg in nervous anticipation once again.

 

\----

 

“Hold these and go again while I send something off to his Dad.” Ryan pushed the rough plates into one of the guard’s hands and dutifully told him to ‘ignore his tears, all they do is conduct the electricity.’ All the boy could do was cry harder at the comment.

 

Peter was still desperately trying to force himself to form words, so he could beg and protest, plead, or do anything to make the pain stop. The best he managed was a weak moan as the cool metal was pressed harshly against the sides of his head. His whimpers grew in intensity as the unmistakeable hum of the box started up again.

 

He couldn’t even open his lips before the current began again and he was convulsing once more.

 

\----

 

“Half an hour Tony.” He didn’t bother to respond. His attention was solely focused on the email that slid onto the screen in his lap. He swallowed.

 

“R – Rhodey, Steve?” Something in his voice must have caught their attention immediately because Rhodey turned in his seat and Steve glanced away from the road briefly to see the colour beginning to drain from the mechanic’s face. “They sent another one… a – another email I mean.”

 

“Do you think you need to see it, you can give it here and I’ll read it.” His leg braces made a small noise as he fully repositioned in his seat to face his friend.

 

“He’s right, there isn’t any point in reading it now, we’re almost there anyway.” Although his eyes were on the road, the suggestion was clear – don’t upset yourself anymore than you need to before we get to Peter.

 

“It’s fine. I need to, it could be important.”

 

‘Mr. Stark,

I fully expect you and the rest of the ‘team’ to continue the pointless search for your child, however I suggest you quit while you, aren’t, ahead. His time is running out and he understands this.

I will admit, Petey is an optimistic shit, and it’s taken this long to get him to fully grasp the fact that me and the rest of my staff are almost done with him. His usefulness and usability to us is almost out, and after this experiment, he’s done.

Not surprisingly, you haven’t been astute or resourceful enough to locate your son, and he is suffering the consequences of a broken promise.

Hope is a strange thing, when the subjects have it, they have something to hold on to, and when they lose it, so too do they lose themselves. Well, that’s a beautiful sight, shattered innocence one may say.

I hope you look forward to finding the Spider’s corpse.’

 

The car was silent. Steve set his jaw and sped up noticeably, passing several cars in a feeble attempt to reach the location in time. Rhodey looked at a loss for words, but his eyes scanned over Tony, assessing his stability and mental state before cautiously saying his name.

 

“Tony?” He was glaring at the screen still in his lap. He gripped the tech so tightly that his knuckles were white, and his hands visibly shook.

 

“He’s going to fucking suffer. He doesn’t even deserve to die, I swear if he thinks I won’t find him –”

 

“Tony!” The car didn’t slow as it pulled off the highway and took its exit.

 

“No Rhodey I don’t care I – there’s another one with an audio file.”

 

“We aren’t going to listen, we’re only twenty minutes out fro –” He played the file without even hesitating.

 

‘No, no, no, no. Ple – please I don’ wanna die, please don’ kill me… don’ make my heart st – stop, please. Please.’

 

The sound of Peter’s rapid, hysterical breaths filled the small space, and Tony hated that he tried to hold onto the sound of his breathing. There was a sudden, metallic banging and Peter’s resounding cry of fear or pain, nobody could tell which.

 

‘Revive him – but only so we can continue to experiment. He doesn’t die during this one, any of the following ones he can though.’

 

‘No! No, please. Please no, don’ – don’ h – hurt me anymore I can’… I don’ wanna go. Pl – please, Please Ryan no, no, nonononono.’

 

‘Then tell me why! Huh? Why don’t you want to fucking die Peter? Explain to me!’

 

The choking sound of an incomplete sob and more heaving breaths.

 

‘B – because I… I wanna see m’ Dad and I wan’ see my friends, n’ finish school n’ grow up an’ be Spider-man an’ – an’ I jus… I don’ wanna die yet, I – I…’ 

 

A wet cough that obviously didn’t help Peter’s breathing echoed in the car.

 

‘I wanna eat pizza with m’ Dad n’ go to school n’ sit with m’ friends. I wanna do tests an’ get pushed around by Flash n’ see the Avengers and train with m’ Dad… I jus’ wan’ my Dad. Please, I don’ wanna go, I won’ leave him alone, I gotta pro’ect the ci’y an’ be Spider-man n’ jus’ be with m’ Dad. Please, I wan’ Daddy… I – I don’ wanna die yet.’

 

The next threat was whispered, and Tony and Rhodey had to strain to hear the words.

 

‘You should probably prepare for your goodbyes Spider, this is going to hurt.’

 

Three more rapid breaths.

 

‘D – Dad, Daddy I… I love you an’ – an’ m’ sorry, m’ so sorry.’

 

‘How sweet, I’ll be sure to let Daddy hear that.’

 

The audio ended, and the man stared into the now dark screen of the Stark Pad. He knew it was bad, he knew it was a fucked-up situation and Peter was going to be haunted by what he had endured, much like Tony had himself, but he didn’t know that it would get to this point. His son was begging for his life and saying his goodbyes. Did he truly believe he was going to die? Had he really lost hope like the email said? Did he actually think he had something to apologise for, when his Dad was the one who hadn’t saved him soon enough?

 

“Steve how lo –”

 

“Less than fifteen minutes.”

 

“Fuck it.”

 

“What do you mean fu –”

 

“I’m giving this psycho a taste of his own medicine.”

 

\----

 

Three more sessions. Three more times they had turned on the box and increased the voltage. Peter felt dead. Maybe he was? He couldn’t feel his body, only the pain – if that even made sense. He couldn’t say where his fingers ended, and his hands started, where his skull began and where his neck started. It was like he was numb, but the pain was still there. The pain was definitely there, all of it. Every single bit of pain he had felt these last two weeks and five days was rolled into one sensation and he could feel it all – but not his body.

 

At some point, he must have bitten into his cheek enough to draw a considerable amount of blood, because someone shoved a makeshift gag into his mouth to either staunch the blood flow or give him something to bite down on as he screamed. It was scary to think, but he wasn’t entirely sure when he was screaming, or when the current was on and when it was turned off. There was too much pain to discern anything except fleeting voices and sounds every now and then, although nothing was clear.

 

“There’s a response email Sir.”

 

“Read it, I’m busy checking if this kid’s still breathing.” Now that he mentioned it, there was something touching his neck, maybe that was where his pulse point was, but he couldn’t be sure.

 

“I have found you, we’re coming, and you aren’t laying another… fucking hand on my son or you’ll seriously regret it more than anyone had ever regretted anything in this reality. Bridgeport – check and mate.”

 

The not really there sensation on his neck moved away, and the sounds of muffled but hurried footsteps filled his mind.

 

“What? Give me that – who, what the fuck. How did he – shit, shit.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Go – get everyone and – shit – get everyone together and meet me outside, pull the van’s up and make sure everyone is armed and –”

 

“Sir? Has – has Stark found us?” There was silence, and Peter assumed Ryan nodded in reply. After the silence, there was chaos assaulting his defective senses, almost the like calm before the storm he thought. He lay there and was somehow functional enough to be relieved the sessions of electricity had stopped for now.

 

The pinching clamps were removed from his toes and fingers, the plates disregarded and shoved to the floor. His restraints and gag were left untouched as the table holding him moved. They didn’t bother to cover his head with a burlap sack as he was wheeled down the hallways. Even if they had, it wouldn’t have made much of a difference because he passed out sometime after the third direction change.

 

“O – no the back, we are not loading him into the van’s out front you incompetent shi –”

 

“Sir, everyone is gathered, and their weapons are ready.”

 

“Good. It could all be a lie but I’m not taking chances and the fact that Stark knew about Bridgeport is just… get him outside before I change my mind and just kill him right now.” Peter made a small whimper behind the fabric stuffed in his mouth, but nobody heard, or more likely, nobody cared. If nobody cared, he could say anything he wanted – maybe he could scream for help. All he could manage was a single, meek word which was unintelligible with the gag.

 

“Daddy.”

 

\----

 

“Nat, how much further behind us are you?”

 

“I can see the car, maybe a hundred feet?”

 

“We’re pulling up now Tony.” He already knew, he could see the building that he had first looked at on the Stark Pad. It was a lot less conspicuous than the pictures made out, but everyone knew what had happened inside those walls.

 

Steve barely turned off the engine before everyone was out of the cars and standing, geared up, weapons at the ready in front of the structure. Natasha was ready, her hip was cocked, and multiple utilities leant against her belt, Sam had his wing suit on, a gun in one hand and Redwing compacted away in his suit in case needed. Rhodey’s leg braces weren’t seen from inside the War Machine armour, and even with his faceplate down, his eyes almost appeared as narrowed in determination. Steve had an earlier shield prototype that Tony had given his for the fight, and he held it in his arms, not bothering to attach it to his back in case of a surprise attack. Iron Man’s armour was sleek, and the sun bounced off it, reflecting red and gold beams of light which served to enhance the anger that radiated from him. Inside the suit, his eyes and jaw were set, a dark expression clouding his face and only two thoughts racing through his mind – save Peter, make them pay.

 

“I have picked up a cluster of heat signatures around the back of the building Sir.” He didn’t bother to thank F.R.I.D.A.Y, she understood the severity and weight of the task ahead of everyone. The group split without words, Tony and Steve to the left, Rhodey and Sam to the right, and Natasha through the building that F.R.I.D.A.Y confirmed was devoid of any life.

 

“Hit hard, get the kid out and safe. First priority is Peter.” Steve had dropped into his mission-focused persona, and no emotion showed in his voice as he gave direct orders over the comms.

 

“Understood,” was the only reply he received from everyone before they had reached the corner of the building, which was shrouded in four dense bushes. Tony crouched in front of him, the eyes of the suit giving away the same, non-existent emotion as Steve’s words as its eyes locked onto the scene in front of them.

 

The courtyard was filled with guards, in total there looked to be around fifty of them, and they were clustered around the doors of two transport vehicles similar to the ones that took Peter in the first place. They were all dressed in black gear and wore masks to cover their features. The vehicles were far away enough that Tony and Steve could make out the four other people obviously not dressed in black. Two figures in lab coats, holding clipboards stood beside the man that was currently bent over the small form tied down to the metal bench, with his hands fisted deep into a familiar mop of wild curls. The man was clearly the one in charge, he had no weapons but held the most authoritative and threating stance. His knees were bent, back curved in order to reach the helpless body on the metal table.

 

From their position about one hundred feet away the injuries visible on Peter’s obviously trembling figure were no clearer than those seen in all the photos and videos they had seen. That being said, he looked like death come alive. The boy’s frame was so small, skinny and fragile looking. There was not an inch of his skin that wasn’t covered in bloody wounds or bruised skin, in fact, there was no part of him that looked unharmed. There were metal restrains pinning the teen down, and it was painfully clear how hard they had been fought against, due to how bruised and bloody the skin underneath them seemed to be, especially the neck. He was crying, and the choked sobs could be heard by anyone and everyone around, and the only people who didn’t seem to be pleased by the sound of a broken child was the people coming to save him. Peter’s soft, heart-breaking litany of whimpers and cries were muffled and subdued by the gag in his mouth. It looked to be a bundle of fabric, maybe a rag, that had been lazily shoved into his mouth to quieten him. The man in charge was saying something, and Tony couldn’t make out what he was whispering into his child’s ear, but judging by the disgust present on Steve’s face, it wasn’t for the light of heart.

 

“What’s he saying Cap?” No reply, just the feeble shake of a head. “Cap?” He whispered as angrily as he could, staying as quiet as possible at the same time.

 

“Tony he – uh, he’s just… trying to get Peter to…” He trailed off as he stared ahead at the scene before them. Tony gripped his arm as gently but as demanding as possible in his armour. “Uh… he’s trying to get Peter to say goodbye to you, because you’re bluffing? Yeah, he’s trying to convince Peter that your email was a bluff and that you aren’t coming…” He left his mouth open as if to say more but shook his head slowly.

 

“What? What else is he saying?” Steve turned to face him, the eyes met those glowing blue of Tony’s suit.

 

“He said that nobody would ever come to save a, uh – uh, ‘freak, mutant’ like him from death…” From under the mask he bared his teeth and Steve seemed to realise what was about to happen before Tony even did himself. Not even bothering to stop the furious man before him, the soldier pressed the comms and connected to Clint’s feed.

 

“We have eyes, going in now – get the jet over here quickly.” Then, as Nat, Sam, Rhodey and Tony listened to Steve’s signal, they all surged forward into battle.

 

Rhodey firstly blasted the vehicle, sending it careening into at least ten of the guards surrounding it. Sam flew past him and slammed his feet into one more, the weight of his landing managed to throw the guard into two more and they fell like pins at a bowling alley. Natasha was strategically taking out the men closest to the entrance to the building, effectively blocking off the only path of escape for unwilling fighters. Steve sprinted forward and hurled his shield like a frisbee, catching it expertly as it bounced back to him from the now upturned van after having pounded two men. Tony increased his repulsors and picked up as much speed as possible before blasting himself directly into the chest of the main man, the force of his hit throwing them both into the two doctors and knocking them aside roughly.

 

It wasn’t satisfying enough to just hear the surprised yelp of fright that escaped the man’s lips as he was pummelled to the asphalt by the Iron Man suit.

 

“Stark” he called from underneath Tony, flashing a psychotic grin at the man through now blood-stained teeth. The words didn’t reach the Father’s fury-clouded mind as he brought his fists down.

 

“You want to fucking take my son?” He slammed his fist down. “You think it’s okay to torture a sixteen-year-old?” Again, he shoved his armour-clad hand down. “To experiment on someone so innocent!” Ryan’s face was bloodied, and Tony was crouched above him, holding his shirt collar for leverage as he rained his blows. “Or put your disgustingly filthy hands in his hair?” A bloody smile despite the punches. “Do you? Do you fucking care how messed up you are? Do you understand how much you’re gonna pay for laying a finger on my baby? Huh! Huh?” He shook the man below him angrily, the unsupportive neck made his head flop side to side viciously as Toy waited for an answer.

 

“That’s a beautiful kid you got yourself, too bad I made him scream so pretty like. I did what I had to, it’s my responsibility to take care of my subjects and make sure the tests gather the best data.” His smug face held its ground even in the presence of the furious and positively murderous Stark.

 

“Peter isn’t your subject – he isn’t a fucking object for you to experiment on!” He shook his again, trying to shake the point into the stubborn man’s head.

 

“Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Mr. Stark.” His grin split wider and he spat blood to the side, rolling his head back only to smirk proudly once again.

 

“That’s not a thing! You can’t go around and treat people – especially my kid – like fucking lab animals! He isn’t yours in any way, that’s my son – mine! You hear me, you psychopathic asshole!” Tony spat, and he was sure if he lowered his faceplate his spittle would hit the man’s already bloodied face.

 

Meanwhile Steve ran to Peter. After clearing the guards that stood between them he slid to a halt and briefly took in the injuries, assessing whether or not the boy’s wounds had the danger of making him bleed out. His frame was so much smaller than Steve had ever remembered, and in the moment, he felt utterly taken aback that the teen in the red and blue suit who caught a shipping container at the German airport could look so little like himself. He looked so… hurt, not just physically, but emotionally. If the tears rolling down his cheeks and the hyperventilating sobs were enough to go by, the kid had gone through hell.

 

“Hey, hi kid, it – it’s Captain America. I’m gonna get you out of these restraints now, okay?” The boy’s lids fluttered open, and the tears made his eyelashes stick together like spider legs. He looked up with glassy eyes, pupils blown wide from what he assumed to be a concussion. He sniffled, his sobs stopping for a moment as he seemed to realise what all the noise was. “Peter, did you he – can you hear me?” He thinks that the teen tried to nod slowly, but the metal band around his neck and forehead didn’t allow for enough movement so he tried to speak.

 

“E – ye… es.” His voice was shaky, ruined and it cracked on almost every word. Steve tried not to picture the tube being forced down the kid’s throat.

 

“Okay, that’s – this is good, I’m gonna take the, uh… the gag out.” Peter let his mouth fall open in response and remained still as it was gently pulled past his lips. The edge that had been closest to the back of his throat was soaked in blood, and the top half was drenched in tears and saliva. It was hastily thrown to the ground, out of sight. “Will it hurt too much if I get that band off your neck?”

 

“Wh – where’s m’ Da…ad?” Steve looked up from where he was carefully looking over how dangerous it would be to get the neck band off. He flicked his eyes over Peter’s and let his face soften. When he turned behind him, keeping one hand over the boy’s wrist pulse, he watched as Tony dealt with the man in charge.

 

“He’s here kid. He’s just over there, we’re gonna get you out I pro –”

 

“N…no. I – I jus’ wan’ m’ Da – Dad.” His eyes were unfocused and didn’t really seem to be seeing everything that was there, but they stayed firmly locked onto Steve, his face set in a pleading expression.

 

“Okay, okay I’ll get him – I’m getting your Dad now.” He turned over his shoulder and yelled as loudly as he dared with the frightened boy in front of him. “Tony? Tony! I – we need you over here!” Peter couldn’t help but flinch at the noise, bracing for a blow that so often came with the yelling. The movement didn’t go unnoticed and Steve pulled his attention back to the cowering teen. “Hey, Peter? We aren’t going to hurt you, it’s okay. I’m here to get you out of here, alright? Nothing else is going to hurt you now.”

 

“O – okay. I jus’… jus’ wan’ Dad.”

 

“I know, I know – he’s coming.” He turned away again, worrying more as he noted the pulse weakening slightly, “Tony!”

 

Tony looked up from where he was pointing his charged repulsor at the man’s head. The suit whined as it powered down.

 

“Natasha? You’re in charge of him, that cool?” She nodded and smiled predatorily, stalking toward the pair with intent glowing in her eyes.

 

“It would be my pleasure” she purred, lifting her arm and firing a taser disk at the man, who grunted before slumping in Tony’s hold. He dropped the man unceremoniously, letting him drop to the ground before curling his lip in disgust.

 

“Tony! Get over here, now!” His anger dissolved into fear and concern as he snapped his neck around, trying to see past Steve to get a look at the form on the table below him.

 

“Cap, what’s happening?” He called worriedly, standing and running over to the soldier who was frowning at him in urgency. Tony ran faster. He let his suit retract from his form and he skidded to a halt just beside the metal bench.

 

“Tony, he wa –”

 

“Da… Daddy?” Peter had opened his lids again, and although his pulse was weakening, his eyes were wide and hazed over with confusion.

 

“Hi baby, yeah it’s me. I’m here now.” He reached out and brushed Peter’s loose curls back, being careful not to press any bruises. He was surprised to find that despite almost three weeks without washing them, they were still one of the softest things he had ever felt. The boy leaned into the touch as much as he could under the restraints.

 

“Get these off him Steve, let me hold my kid.” Tony reached out and gripped Peter’s hand, folding his palm over the finger he had curled out towards his Dad. “Hey, hey I know Pete, I’m here. It’s okay, I’m here now.”

 

“Pl – please… I wan’ go h – home.” He weakly squeezed his fingers and Tony instinctively reached out and rested the hand not clutching Peter’s and tucked in into his hair, providing comfort for the shaking boy and also checking for head wounds.

 

“I know, we’re going home, I promise. I promise I’m taking you home. Cap get them off, please get them off him.” It was Tony who looked at him with pleading eyes, both of the Stark’s seemed to have a talent for it.

 

“I – I’m trying they’re just really enforced. I think we’re going to need your suit for this as well.” He was experimentally pulling at the bonds, which weren’t budging under his grip. “Jesus Tony, get your laser and I’ll use my shield.”

 

“I don’ wanna be on the t – table any – anymore…” Tony slipped his fingers away from Peter’s and let the suit’s arm form over his hand again, making sure to continue stroking through the boy’s hair soothingly.

 

“We’re getting you out okay, just hold still and I’ll be really careful.” There was still commotion behind them, Sam and Rhodey were still working on taking down the rest of the guards, who were yelling and trying to retreat back into the building.

 

“How far out are you Clint?” Steve heard Clint’s reply through Rhodey’s suit.

 

“About fifteen minutes, how bad is it?” The suit turned to face the two men huddling over the table and didn’t even need to look at Peter before he replied.

 

“Just… get here soon.”

 

Tony set the laser to a setting where it wouldn’t cut through all the way, just scoring the metal so that Steve’s shield could snap it apart. He worked on the cuff on the ankle which wasn’t broken, going slowly and trying to stay as precise as possible under the stressful circumstances. It took longer than he would have liked, but once the metal had been scored the shield was able to break through in less than three blows. After the leg, arm and torso restrains had been removed he had to deal with the ones still pinning Peter’s neck and head to the table.

 

“Okay, I’m turning the heat down and going much slower on these ones, okay Pete? How much does the one on your neck hurt?” His hand that wasn’t holding the laser slid over the boy’s cheek slowly, wiping away the last of his tears.

 

“I – I don’ kn – know… M’ sorry.” He closed his eyes and another tear slipped down his cheek, to Tony’s dismay.

 

“No, no it’s okay. That’s okay I swear. I’ll be more careful with the one on your neck because it looks the most painful, okay Pete? It’s okay, you don’t need to be sorry.” Peter bunched his now free hands into his Dad’s shirt and clung to him desperately, squeezing his eyes shut as the laser slowly began to burn through the band over his temples. It took longer, and the extra caution was worth it, but all Tony wanted was to hold his affection-craved child.

 

“I don’t think I need the shield for these last two, I can just pull them apart.” The mechanic nodded his permission and Steve began to separate the second to last band. When it fell away, Tony surged forward and pressed a kiss against Peter’s temple, running a shaky hand over the side of his face, winding around the worst of the bruises. The boy shuffled meekly in place and let one hand fall from Tony’s shirt to scratch at the metal around his neck.

 

“M ‘ I – it’s hard t – to breathe… hur’s.” Now that he mentioned it, Peter’s breaths did sound strained and the air whistled when he sucked in and blew out.

 

“I know, we can fix that once I’ve gotten this off. I’m gonna start cutting through it now, okay?” He felt the second hand clasp his shirt in agreeance and he began to work away at the metal. The neck took the longest to cut through, by far. Partly because of how slow he was going and partly because of how tight it was against the skin. When Steve finally pulled apart the piece of metal and let them fall to the ground Tony was pulling Peter fully into his arms, taking all his weight and practically climbing onto the table to embrace his son. His first arm wrapped around the boy’s back and his hand buried itself in the brunette locks, the second wound around his hips and pulled him closer to the worryingly cold body. Peter nuzzled his face into his Dad’s chest, pushing his cold nose into his neck and breathing in the familiar scent.

 

“A – addy,” he whispered into the warm chest, his blue-tinted lips brushing against Tony’s collarbone. He hugged his Dad as tightly as his exhausted body would allow and relished in the feeling of finally being safe.

 

“Hey baby…” Tony rested his chin against the fluffy curls, letting them tickle his face softly. He scratched small circles into Peter’s scalp and rubbed up and down his back with a feather-light touch, keeping away from the still sluggishly bleeding cuts. “Baby I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have taken this long to get you back and –”

 

“S’ no – no’ your faul’ Da… ad,” Peter rasped from where he was tucked securely under Tony’s chin. “I – I missed yo – you,” his voice was getting softer, and Tony moved the hand buried in his hair to check his pulse hesitantly.

 

“You feeling tired Petey?” The teen hummed in response and red flags buzzed in Tony’s head. “You gotta stay awake just for a little bit, kay? Can you keep your eyes open until the jet gets here, please Pete?” He didn’t hear a response from below him, and he pulled back to look at his son only to receive a high-pitched whine at the loss of contact.

 

“M’ feelin fu – fuzzy… sle – slee… py.” His words were becoming more slurred, and it was harder to understand what the boy was trying to say, but Tony ran a gentle finger over his eyelids and pressed another kiss to his forehead. He shot a look at Steve who was checking over everybody else and taking stock of the bodies that now laid in the courtyard.

 

“Clint should be here really shortly, maybe another five – ten minutes?”

 

“He doesn’t look good Cap. F.R.I can you figure out why he said he feels fuzzy?”

 

“Scanning now Sir.” There was a pause and Tony used the time to reposition Peter’s pliant body, back resting against his arm and head being supported by the crook of his elbow. The teen’s eyes were staying shut for longer periods of time and he was becoming less responsive. “It appears Peter is suffering from severe symptoms of hypovolemic shock. He may have meant lightheaded rather than ‘fuzzy.’ Due to the extensive trauma his body appears to have undergone, I am unable to provide a sufficient estimate of how long he has, although I highly recommend he receives immediate medical attention.”

 

“Pete you need to stay awake” he tapped the boy lightly on the nose, trying to rouse him, but all he got was a quiet sniffle. “Hey, hey Pete?” The teen’s pale skin was cold and clammy, his breathing was concerningly shallow, but rapid, and his pulse continued to weaken under Tony’s fingers. His lips and fingernails were a deathly shade of blue but when his lips fell open as his body was repositioned, there was dark blood coating his lips and tongue.

 

“He’s got blood in his mouth, what do I – shit, shit! Hey Pete? Peter!” He sat the boy up further and leant his head forward, massaging circles into his back and patting lightly to try and wake him up. “Hey, c’mon you need to spit the blood out, so you can breathe better.” The wheezing breaths were decreasing into incredibly shallow inhales, and there was no doubt if he didn’t get more oxygen intake he could suffocate.

 

Peter moaned weakly and heaved suddenly, coughing as blood dripped past his lips, running down his chin and dripping into his lap. His eyes remained shut and Tony wasn’t even sure he was conscious anymore. “Peter? Baby? You awake?” No response, just the empty, useless coughing that just let more blood fall. “Shit, shit – where the hell is Clint?”

 

“He’s coming Tony, just try and prop him up more, let his head rest on your shoulder – yeah like that – just until the blood all comes up.” Rhodey and his emergency aid classes didn’t sound like such a bad idea to him anymore. He did as instructed, and shushed Peter gently as he whimpered some more, feeling slightly better when his small hands wrapped around his neck tiredly.

 

“Ad?” Peter’s voice cracked but Tony understood what he was trying to say.

 

“Yeah baby? I’m right here for you.” He started to stroke the ends of his hair again, at the nape of his neck.

 

“M’ no’ fe – feelin’ v’ry g’d.” That one took longer for his head to pick apart, but he thinks the boy murmured something along the lines of ‘I’m not feeling very good.’

 

“The jet’s nearly here, I promise, can you just hold on a little bit longer? Please Pete, just stay conscious a little more…”

 

He wanted to curl up into a ball, he wanted to hug his Dad more, but his eyelids were getting heavier, his vision was fading away and the pain was ushering the bleak darkness to envelop him once more. The dark had never held pain before, and he knew his Dad would forgive him for napping just a little bit before he got home, so he sunk into unconsciousness.

 

“Peter? No, no, no, come on and wake up.” Something was humming loudly but Tony didn’t look up from where he was cradling his son.

 

“Clint’s here, we need to get him to the jet now.” Someone had their hands on his shoulders, he thinks it was Steve, but he wasn’t sure. “Can you carry him, or do you need me to.” He hooked his arm under Peter’s knees and moved more of his opposite hand onto his back, pulling him completely off the table with ease.

 

“He’s too light, he doesn’t weigh anything… it – it’s not good how easy it is to hold him like this.” The hands pushed lightly, and he realised they were guiding him toward the humming that grew louder and louder. His footsteps echoed, and he recognized the feeling of the Quinjet’s ramp beneath his shoes. “Can someone get the med gear, he’s still bleeding, there’s – there’s too much blood and it’s coming from everywhere, he isn’t breathing properly, he – he passed out and F.R.I.D.A.Y said he’s going into hypovolemic shock…”

 

“The flight’s only half an hour Tony. Cho said she’s ready and the team’s prepped for his arrival, they have a stretched and everything. It’s going to be okay.”

 

“I – how can I help him now?” It was worrying him more the longer he was holding Peter, because normally his arms would be burning, and he’d have to put him down again, but not now. Now it was scarily easy to keep the small body tucked against his chest and wrapped in his arms.

 

“Sit down and I’ll position the kid so he can breathe better, then we’ll give him an oxygen mask and try to staunch the bleeding, you just need to try and stay calm.” Rhodey was out of his suit, and impressively level-headed but that could probably be accredited to his experience as a soldier.

 

He sat and stretched Peter’s body out while Rhodey repositioned him, keeping his head elevated and knees bent using Tony to prop the teen up. Sam was running Clint down on everything tat had happened, Nat was cleaning her gun obsessively and counting her remaining taser disks while Steve flew the jet at maximum speed back to the compound. Rhodey rested an oxygen mask over Peter’s face, and Tony pulled the strap behind his face and made sure his breathing evened out in the slightest. “Clint could you hand me some gauze, like, a lot of it?” Tony glanced up at Rhodey who was preoccupied with searching the boy’s body for the most severe cuts and gashes. “Thanks. Alright Tones, the deepest ones are his right knee, hip and shoulder, but it looks like part of the bone is missing so be really careful applying pressure, so we don’t fracture it any more. His entire back is cut up pretty bad, but the worst ones are focused lower down, so you’re gonna have to reach that while I deal with the hip and knee, you with the shoulder.” He looked up and read his friend’s face, before softening his own into a concerning expression, understanding how overwhelmed the Father must be. “Still remember the first aid training I forced you to do?” Tony swallowed and bobbed his head without words before doing what Rhodey had told him to without jostling Peter too much.

 

“What do I do about this one?” He pointed to the dark, bloody mess that was Peter’s neck and Rhodey hesitated briefly before handing him a section of gauze.

 

“Let me clean it and assess how serious it actually is before you apply pressure.” Clint already had a bowl of room temperature water at the ready and Rhodey dipped a handful of gauze into it and wrung it out.

 

“I’ll do it! I – I can do it, I’m gentle with him…” Rhodey was confused but relented, eventually understanding the man needed all the physical contact with his son as possible after having been separated for weeks.

 

“Around the wound first to get rid of the dried blood then over it, call me when you’re done. It’s probably better than it looks, or at the very least it will look less serious once it’s cleaned up a bit.” Tony smiled thankfully before leaning back a bit and pulling Peter closer to his chest, hoping the body heat could help warm him up.

 

“Hey baby” he whispered as he very carefully began to dab around the furthest edges of his neck, slowly washing away the dark, crusted blood. “Everything’s gonna be okay now… I swear.” He snuggled his hand around the boy’s small hips, hating the way he could feel the ribs protruding. After what must have been at least ten – fifteen minutes the majority of the blood had been cleaned away and Tony had rinsed the wound until the water ran clear. “Rhodey, I’m done.” He was joined by his friend once again and was greeted with a pleased smile, “you were right, it looks a lot better now that there’s no blood.”

 

“We don’t need to put pressure on that anymore, plus we’re landing in a few minutes, so Helen can take over. Just sit tight for now, almost there.”

 

If Peter hadn’t just bled out, or wasn’t covered completely in bruises, cuts, burns, dried and fresh blood, then maybe Tony would have relaxed. If he closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall he could probably imagine nothing was wrong, and it was a normal trip.

 

\----

 

‘C’mere Spiderling.’ Peter rolled his eyes but leant into Tony’s arms regardless.

 

‘M’ Spider-Man Dad,’ his voice didn’t contain any real heat, and it was muffled from where his face was buried in his Dad’s suit. ‘How was your meeting?’

 

‘The same as always, Pepper was stressed out about it for no reason, I nailed it and could even slip a text you under the table.’ The mechanic pulled away from the hug and brushed a sweaty curl from next to Peter’s ear. ‘Let me guess, you just had P.E?’

 

‘Yeah, we played dodgeball again’ he frowned and picked at the sleeve of his sweater.

 

‘So, you let yourself get hit and the coach made you run laps again?’ Peter smiled guiltily and looked down, nodding his head, loose waves bouncing slightly as he did. ‘Too self-sacrificing, but then again…’

 

‘I get it from you?’ He interrupted swiftly and his hair was ruffled in response and he giggled, half-heartedly pushing the hand away.

 

‘Sure, that and your brains, let’s hope the comparisons stop there kiddo.’

 

‘Hey Hap?’ He tapped a finger on the dividing glass twice and it rolled down slowly.

 

‘Yup?’ He sounded tired, but today was Friday, so everyone was a bit tired of the week.

 

‘How bad is traffic this afternoon?’

 

‘Shit, like always – remind me again why you go to a school in Queens?’ Peter smiled and clipped his seatbelt, sliding a seat closer to his Dad.

 

‘Because he’s got my brains, clearly, and it’s the best school for him.’ Tony cast an eye over at the grinning teen as the dividing window rolled back up. ‘What’s got you in a good mood?’ He just smiled wider.

 

‘I like it when traffic sucks.’ Tony arched an eyebrow at him questioningly, ‘I don’t know why’ he answered with a very knowing smirk on his face. Of course, he knew why, and Tony completely agreed, the longer the drive was, the better.

 

‘Me too Petey, me too.’ He pulled his suit jacket off and folded it haphazardly, waving a hand over his face to cool down. ‘Aren’t you hot in your jumper right after P.E?’

 

‘No, I’m kinda cold.’

 

‘Right, Spidey side-effects, I forget. Come here then.’ He leant back against the door and Peter leant into his chest happily, nuzzling his cheek against his Dad’s shoulder and curling his hands around his neck and latching on tighter, a soft smile gracing his lips. ‘Here, I missed you today,’ Tony murmured into his son’s hair as he wrapped his own suit jacket around the boy and tucked it in like a blanket.

 

‘Missed you too Dad.’ Peter hummed quietly and snuggled impossibly closer, making a small, contented noise in his throat when Tony carded his fingers through his hair, before hiding his blush in his shirt shyly. ‘Love you’ he whispered after a comfortable period of silence.

 

‘I love you too baby.’

 

\----

 

“We’re landing now Tony; can you lift him again?” He looked down at Peter, who’s face was scrunched in pain under the oxygen mask as he slept, and he wanted so desperately to wipe away that expression from his son’s face.

 

“Yeah, let’s get him to Cho now.” Rhodey nodded and lead the way, following behind Sam, Clint and Natasha who were standing at the ramp, waiting for Steve to land.

 

“He looks better without the bleeding” Natasha said, keeping her eyes locked forward as the jet came to a stop and the doors opened loudly.

 

“Yeah…” Tony muttered sadly, looking down at the small form coddled in his arms, “after Cho fixes him up his healing should kick in properly. It just needs food and water and rest to work – he didn’t seem to get much of it at that place.” When they all descended the ramp, it was obvious how much warning the staff had gotten, a large stretcher was waiting along with multiple EMT’s lead by Helen Cho. They bustled forward as Tony laid Peter down gently on the bed.

 

“Anything you can tell me about his condition?” She asked as they began to walk indoors and to the operating rooms.

 

“Uh, he went into hypovolemic shock and passed out not long before the jet arrived, we gave him a mask because his breathing got really shallow after he coughed up some blood. He has three really deep cuts in his knee, hip and shoulder and it looks – it looks like a bone sample was taken… Lots of cuts all over his back, the… restraints he was tied down with cut into his skin a bit but the worst is his neck and we’re pretty sure one of his ankles are broken.” Helen nodded and jotted things down on a clip board, one hand on the side of the bed to help push it in the right direction. Tony jogged alongside, his hand brushing Peter’s hair comfortingly and the other holding his limp hand unwaveringly. When they reached the surgery room Helen hesitated at the door, her gaze flicking between Tony and Peter, face apologetic.

 

“I don’t think we can have you come in with him –”

 

“I’m the only one who understands what medications and anaesthetics will work with his powers, and if he wakes up and sees… a bunch of doctors operating on him then – well I don’t think he’s fully aware enough to understand you’re here to help and he could… struggle. It would be best if I stayed with him for this, and I’ll keep out of the way.” She regarded him carefully, before relenting and ushering him in to get cleaned up and disinfected. Tony showed them which substances were matched to Peter’s DNA and was glad to know they all had a reputable understanding of what he was saying. “Can I help?” He asked seriously as they transferred the teen to the operating table.

 

“There’s cloth being prepped now, if you can wipe down his face, neck and maybe even some of his chest that would be helpful while we do the rest.” He busied himself with anything he could and wasn’t ashamed to admit he took his time wiping away the dirtied, bloody and tear-tracked face beneath him. He spoke softly as he worked, keeping his eyes on Peter, choosing not to watch what the doctors were doing.

 

“You’re so brave Pete, I’m so proud of you.” He squeezed some warmer water through his hair and massaged the damp locks to untangle them. His hair had gotten so long, and Tony hadn’t seen it so wild and unkept since the boy was much younger.

 

They were in surgery for almost four hours, and Tony stayed by Peter’s side every second of it. Rhodey watched through the window for about half the time, and everyone else came to check on the two Starks periodically, staying for a few minutes at a time. Steve cleaned the lab where they had all worked for the past weeks, and Natasha busied herself with organising holding cells in another facility for the men who took the boy. Sam and Clint filled the time with small remedial tasks, gladly helping Natasha out when they got bored or distracted. Tony never let his grip on Peter’s hand falter, and when he was finally out of surgery, situated in a large hospital bed and covered in rolls of medical wrap and bandages, he waited for the doctors to leave before he slid beside the unconscious form and curled around him protectively.

 

As he watched the healthier rise and fall of Peter’s chest, he couldn’t help but think of how close he had been to losing him. It was a hard concept to understand, let alone accept, someone was that close to killing his son for no reason other than the fact that he wasn’t human. It made anger boil inside him again, and he couldn’t force himself to feel any remorse as he remembered the feeling of the kidnapper’s nose crunching under the force of his suit. Nobody that was planning on murdering a child as innocent as Peter deserved pity or remorse. Don’t even try to believe that such a fucked-up person deserved anything even akin to commiseration, because he had thought that ending precious Peter’s life wouldn’t impact anything. That was absolute bullshit.

 

Don’t even try to say that Ned and MJ wouldn’t sit at the lunch table every day just to stare blankly at his old seat, wishing he was still there to crack jokes and inhale more food than the both of them combined. Or that they wouldn’t look off distantly at the gymnasium wall when the principal announced his ‘unfortunate passing’ and try to convince themselves he was just out Spider-Manning. Don’t say that Tony wouldn’t look into the mirror with trembling lips wishing he could be bringing him home from the hospital rather than cradling his lifeless body until it was cold. Or that the broken Father wouldn’t hide away in the lab and work throughout the night to distract himself from the silence in the Tower because his son wasn’t there, creeping through his window in the ungodly hours of the morning after patrol. Don’t say that the mechanic wouldn’t go into the teen’s room and put on the last old, oversized hoodie he wore to try and desperately remember the smell and feel of the soft fabric tucked against his chest. Don’t say that New York would miss its friendly neighbourhood hero, or that Mr. Delmar would miss his favourite customer, or that the decathlon team would make the final round of competitions without their best team member there with them. Because Peter Benjamin Stark was not allowed to be erased, he was forbidden from being removed so early, so young and innocent and optimistic and happy. A child so bright, so precious, who had been through so much and despite that always had a smile plastered across his face. Because that wasn’t fucking allowed. Not on this Earth, in this galaxy, in this entire reality. A perfect son and friend and hero couldn’t be taken away like that.

 

What pulled Tony from that string of thought was the steady beeping that clocked Peter’s heartbeat and the humming of all the necessary machinery and tubes hooked into the unmoving boy helped, and he knew they were there for his safety so he could be closely monitored, fed and hydrated through the I.V’s. Despite that knowledge, all he really wanted was an unharmed, tube and machine-free Peter so their hugs weren’t tainted in anyway by his injuries and complications. The process would take time, and once his healing started working again it would move along quicker, but Tony still swore aloud to himself and his son that he would be there with him for everything.

 

“Sleep well baby, you’re safe now… I’m sorry it took so long, but I’m here now and nobody’s laying another finger on you.”


	9. The Rule and The File

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Tony waits for Peter to wake after surgery he is met with the File which he feels obliged to read. Moreover, the Stark's deal with the two incidents that truly solidified the Rule.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I just want to say this was such a fun chapter to write, I could not put my computer down and had to split what I had written over the week into one and a bit so I've already started working on chapter 10 and well, I mean it's gonna be real rapid hurt/comfort. Thank you again for all the lovely comments on last weeks chapter and also the new story/oneshot series I posted (check it out if you really do love Irondad Spiderson hurt/comfort <3 ).
> 
> There's so much fluffy cuddle descriptions in this chapter and they were honestly so satisfying to write about after all the angsty hurt Peter's gone through in all the other chapters.
> 
> Please keep leaving comments and check out the other story I wrote if you want to, hope you enjoy!

Somewhere in the recesses of Peter’s mind, he knew his Dad had come. He knew that his Dad had finally saved him, and he was far away from Ryan now. He understood now, what it was like to really be saved from certain death… sure, Tony had gotten him out of many Spider related situations which he wasn’t equipped to handle himself, but this one was a whole lot different.

 

He remembered the time he thought his Dad was going to die, he remembered not accepting that fate. He remembers himself as an even smaller child, only nine years old and saving his Dad’s life. Peter wondered if his Dad had been that terrified when he was trapped in that place with the doctors and the guards and Ryan, or if he had still felt helpless after he was saved.

 

\----

 

It was late, he wanted to brush his teeth quickly, so he could snuggle up to his Dad on the couch and fall asleep watching a movie like how most of their late nights were spent. He loved his Dad being back home, he was gone for three months and they were the worst three months of Peter’s life, all because he didn’t know if his Dad would even make it home. But of course, he did, just like he promised. He may have been in a sling and he may have been more haunted then ever before, but he was back, he was home.

 

He watched as the blue foam washed down the sink and then he was padding down the hall, his socks feeling fluffier against the carpet rather than the cool tiles in the bathroom.

 

‘Dad?’ He didn’t get a response, but he also didn’t know what was happening in the living room.

 

Tony was waiting for Peter. He was looking forward to having tonight for themselves, he had been feeling guilty with all the extra time he was spending on Iron Man and not his son. Peter loved Iron Man regardless of how much time it was taking from what they considered ‘normal’ time together. The times he would sit, curled in a blanket on the floor of the lab watching his Dad test things out was amazing, he swung between absolute awe and fits of laughter. His Dad was a genius, he had built something that was going to save so many people and it was the best thing he had ever done. As far as Peter was concerned it was the best thing anyone had ever done in the history of everything, and he didn’t need proof of that because just the fact that his Dad made it was enough.

 

The phone rang, and he wandered over to the couch, looking around to see if Peter was done brushing his teeth yet, he wasn’t. He pulled the phone from under a cushion and sat down slowly as he checked caller ID. It was Pepper, he frowned slightly, why was she calling so late? He sniffed and picked up the call, she immediately spoke.

 

‘Tony?’

 

Something else was happening, something was wrong, so, so wrong. He heard a high humming noise and then pain flared through his skull. It hurt, it hurt so much, he couldn’t move or talk or do anything other than freeze where he was.

 

‘Tony, are you there? Hello?’

 

All he could do was go limp, a hand took the phone from his ear and slipped behind his neck, supporting his throbbing, burning, aching head until it was rested against the back of the couch.

 

‘Breathe.’ The voice was familiar, and so fucking condescending and patronising. Obadiah Stane. Oh right, breathing. That was probably something he should try and do right now considering his lungs were beginning to burn as much as his head was. He sucked in a breath, but it was strained and required so much effort. ‘Easy, easy.’ Like he noticed before, so patronising. His head lolled to the left and he saw the stupidly fake tanned hand loosely holding something else he recognised faintly. ‘You remember this one, right?’ He held it up teasingly, switching it off. Turning the thing off did nothing, well it was easier to breathe and have coherent thoughts other than just ‘pain,’ but he was still paralysed, and it was horrible.

 

‘It’s a shame the government didn’t approve it. There’s so many applications for causing short-term paralysis.’

 

Now his head was clear he had the first rational thought swimming to the front of his mind and slamming him like a truck. Peter.

 

Oh god, he was being betrayed by someone he trusted, and Peter was home, he was here at home and only rooms separated him from Obadiah and his fucking paralysis tool. Peter, Peter, No Peter, please god brush your teeth for hours, please, please. He has to be okay, he can’t let someone hurt Peter. Fuck he was so glad he never told Obadiah about Peter, he was so thankful he decided to keep the kid’s life a secret from everyone except Pepper and Happy. Peter. PeterPeterPeter, please don’t hurt Peter.

 

He was vaguely aware of the fact that the man was moving away from him, and he had a sudden spike of fear that he was leaving to get Peter, but he didn’t. He stepped into Tony’s view and then there was a hand grabbing him by the cheeks and turning his face to the right, so their eyes would meet.

 

‘Ah, Tony.’ The traitor moved his hands away once he was satisfied Tony’s head wouldn’t loll to the side again, and as he quirked his eyebrows happily and removed the ear pieces he spoke. ‘When I ordered the hit on you,’ what. He what? He was behind Afghanistan? Obadiah was the reason he was trapped in a cave for three months and dunked in water and without his son, without Peter? The asshole was behind everything. ‘I worried that I was…’ while he spoke he was reaching into his bag to get something, and what it was made Tony want to scream, because it was a device designed to rip the only thing keeping him alive from his chest. ‘Killing the golden goose.’ He locked it into place, over his thin, white shirt and it began to whirr, smoke rising from where it was burning through the fabric. It hurt, it hurt, it was burning and blinding and horrible and his throat was convulsing around itself trying to get air in and the man was talking while he was doing things. ‘But, you see, it was just –’ The machine clicked and it fucking hurt so bad and his body involuntarily jolted and a horrible gasp escaped his lips and he wanted Peter to be so far away from Obadiah because nobody deserved to feel this. ‘Fate that you survived that.’ It had gotten what it needed, like a stupid claw machine, and it was being pulled from his chest and he couldn’t breathe again and there was so much pain, and the light was escaping from the reactor and he needed that, he needed it! He had to have that, or he was going into cardiac arrest and Peter really didn’t deserve that, Peter needed him, why was this happening?

 

‘You had one last golden egg to give.’ The light bounced onto Obadiah’s face and illuminated every part of him and warped his expression into one so menacing he looked murderous, which is exactly what he was, a killer. He smirked and laid a hand beside Tony’s head on the couch ‘do you really think that just because you have an idea, it belongs to you?’ He paused, and anytime he wasn’t focusing on the man’s words he was thinking of Peter, and how close he was to a murderer that Tony couldn’t protect him from like this. ‘Your Father, he helped give us the atomic bomb,’ that was because his Dad was a smart guy who apparently didn’t have qualms against mass genocide. ‘Now, what kind of world would it be today if he was as selfish as you?’ Then he tugged vehemently, and the last cord was ripped from Tony’s chest, along with the only thing stopping his death. Fuck, it hurt so much he made a pained, choking gasp again and Obadiah smiled, he smiled as he killed the man he worked alongside for years.

 

‘Oh, it’s beautiful. Tony, this is your Ninth Symphony.’ He relaxed and slid down next to Tony who was beginning to feel fainter and fainter, slinging an arm around the back of the couch so casually. ‘What a masterpiece. Look at that.’ He held it just in front of his face, inches away. ‘This is your legacy’ no, no it wasn’t. It wasn’t to him, it was to everyone else but to him, the only legacy that mattered to him was Peter, his son, his child. Peter was the only legacy that was worth anything in this world. Peter.

 

‘A new generation of weapons with this as its heart’ Peter. ‘Weapons that will help steer the world back on course,’ His son, Peter. ‘Put the balance of power in our hands.’ His child, his Peter. ‘The right hands.’ Obadiah was shutting the reactor away in his box, his movements were slow, teasing, because he knew how much pain Tony was in. ‘I wish you could have seen my prototype. It’s not as… Well, not as conservative as yours –’

 

‘Dad?’

 

Shit. No, no, no. This can’t be happening. Peter go, run! Get out, go far away, no, no, no. Don’t fucking touch Peter, nobody touch him. Obadiah paused, flicking Tony a dangerous look.

 

‘Who was that, Stark?’

 

‘Dad? Where are you?’ Obadiah’s face split into a horrible grin, a fire igniting in his gaze as he stared at the doorway, waiting, like a predator waits for its prey.

 

‘Oh, Tony… was that a child? Do – you have a son, don’t you?’ He sounded so enticed by the idea of Peter, of him even having a child, and it was sickening because he knew why the man was so happy about it. It meant he had leverage.

 

‘Daaaad?’ Peter was so unaware, so blissfully unconcerned when he was about to walk right into the same room as a murderer.

 

‘Thanks Stark, you really make this so easy… hope you enjoy watching this.’ Obadiah whispered in his ear almost inaudibly as he slid behind the couch, out of view of the doorway, directly behind Tony.

 

He checked in most of the rooms, he only had a few others where his Dad would be, but it was most likely he was in the living room waiting to start the movie. He walked down the hall and into the living room slowly, and if he had been holding something it would have fallen to the floor as he looked at his Dad.

 

He was slouched, with his head being fully supported by the couch, he was terrifyingly pale, blood dripped from both of his ears and a small drop fell from his hairline too. There were overly pronounced veins across his skin and he didn’t look like he was breathing well.

 

‘Dad!’ He sprinted toward the couch, sliding to a stop and dropping to his knees immediately. ‘Dad what – what happened? Dad? Please be okay.’ He reached a hand out, presumably to hold Tony’s own hand which sat uselessly at his side, but he never made it.

 

‘And who are you, huh?’ Obadiah’s large hand wrapped around Peter’s small one as he stood from behind the couch. He cried out in shock and tried to fall back and away from the grip, but it tightened immediately and pulled him closer, so he was on the couch next to his Dad and kneeling with his chest pressed against the back of the couch. ‘What’s you name hm?’ Peter looked terrified, his eyes darted all around the space, first on the hand keeping him in place, then to his Dad for comfort, then back to Obadiah.

 

‘I – I don’t – what did you do to him?’ Peter stuttered, unsure of what to do, trapped like a fly in a spider’s web.

 

‘Do to who?’ Obadiah grinned evilly, and the boy gulped in fear.

 

‘T – to my D – Da… Tony! Do t – to Tony!’ He stammered, and Tony’s heart filled with pride when Peter caught himself. He knew to never tell anyone who he was, as far as anyone but himself, Pepper and Happy were concerned, he was Peter Parker.

 

‘To Dad?’ His grin widened.

 

‘I – I… he isn’t moving – what did you do? You hurt him!’ His eyes flashed back to Tony and his free arm reached across his body and his fingers made a grabbing motion, wanting to be held, or to hold onto his Dad. He yelped helplessly as Obadiah pulled him closer and gripped the collar of his shirt, shaking him roughly until both of Peter’s hands gripped onto his, trying desperately to steady himself.

 

‘I took Daddy’s arc reactor you Stark shit.’ Peter made a choked off sound, like a sob and then Obadiah was shoving him forcefully backward and he was falling from the couch entirely while Tony watched, unable to yell or do anything to help. Everything was burning with the effort to move and he couldn’t, he couldn’t watch this, he couldn’t be stuck on the couch and watch the man he trusted hurt his son.

 

‘No! You can’t take that – he needs it!’ Obadiah rounded the couch and pulled Peter away from it by his hair, until they were further away from Tony. His small legs dragged and kicked across the floor uselessly, trying to get enough traction to take the weight off his curls which were being yanked on brutally.

 

‘That’s the point! He needs it, I want it, he should be dead. Connect the dots if you’re smart enough too.’ Peter’s lips trembled, and he turned to look back at his Dad, to check on him, for help, Tony didn’t know.

 

‘You had something to do with Afghanistan…’ Obadiah looked impressed for a moment, lips curling upwards.

 

‘You take after your Dad, don’t you? Maybe one day you can be the golden goose of the family.’ He shot a knowing look at Tony and his smirk grew.

 

‘I really do take after him.’ Peter said boldly, bringing the man’s attention back to him and away from his Dad, who was paling more and more. When the man’s eyes were back on him he made his move from the floor. He kicked out suddenly, his foot colliding just below Obadiah’s knee and sending him crashing to the floor loudly. ‘Dad!’ He screamed as he scrambled to his feet and rushed over to him. He laid his shaky hands over Tony’s chest, stopping when he saw the hole where his arc reactor should have been.

 

‘You little brat!’ Peter looked behind him to where the man was getting to his feet again. He shot a frantic look at Tony and grabbed Obadiah’s box from next to him on the couch. He fumbled with it, barely managing to open it when the man wrapped his arms around his waist from behind and lifted him in the air. ‘Get away from that you shit!’ He didn’t even appear to struggle with Peter, who was shoving his elbows and feet back into him in a last-ditch attempt to get free and save his Dad. ‘Fucking Starks’ Obadiah panted before hurling a still kicking and fighting Peter to the side, sending him down and rolling across the floor.

 

‘Dad!’ His arms reached out in the air, but he was frozen, he couldn’t move, he couldn’t catch Peter as he fell. He tumbled and for a brief moment Tony had thought he would merely stop rolling and get up again, but of course not. Because life wasn’t fair, he had to watch, paralysed on the couch, as his sweet, innocent baby was thrown to the floor only to come to a stop when the back of his head collided with the concrete slab by the fireplace. He whimpered quietly and crumpled to the ground, a smear of blood left against the wall.

 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to run to his kid and make all his pain go away, he wanted to fucking hurt Obadiah like he hurt Peter.

 

‘Too bad you had to involve the kid in this. I would have preferred that he lived.’ He brushed the shoulders of his suit as if to wipe away imaginary dust, and with that, he checked over his box and carried everything out of the room with him. When he was sure Obadiah was gone he swivelled his eyes towards Peter’s form, not even caring about himself for the moment, just focused solely on the blood and the limp body that was his child, who he was supposed to protect. He tried to scream, he did, but the only noise that he made was a pained grunt.

 

There was nothing for a short beat, and the thought that Peter could actually be dead crossed his mind, and he refused to cry, he didn’t let his burning eyes spill any tears because before they could his son moved. His fingers twitched slowly, and gradually he had managed to push his arm underneath him. The boy groaned loudly and clutched the back of his head for a moment before he seemingly remembered everything.

 

‘Dad!’ He snapped up into a sitting position, his eyes hazy and unfocused but darting up to meet Tony’s and he was standing, wobbling on his feet and gripping the wall for support before moving towards him. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Oh Dad, what – the reactor… oh no, uh, uh, maybe I can… No!’ He crawled over the couch to his Dad and pressed his hands onto his shoulders and looked up at him with teary eyes. ‘What do I do… You – you needed the reactor and I – I lost it… Dad I don’t – I…’ He looked down, swiping furiously at his eyes before taking deep breaths.

 

His son was so strong.

 

‘I could… I don’t know, uh… the workshop might have something I can build but… oh my god! Dad! The – the old reactor, Pepper framed it! She got it as a gift!’

 

His child was a genius.

 

‘Dad, can you blink?’ He blinked for him. ‘Oh, thank god, okay, okay. Where did you put the old one? Is it still in the workshop? One blink yes, two for no.’ He stared, waiting. Tony closed his eyes once. ‘I need to get it! I can get it so you – you’re gonna be okay… I’m getting it!’ He jumped off the couch, swaying for a second and touching the back of his head gingerly before racing to the elevator. ‘It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s gonna be okay!’ He yelled all the way down and when he finally wrapped his hands around the case he threw it to the ground, avoiding the worst of the pieces of shattered glass and picked it back up before racing back up to his Dad. He was even more pale than before Peter had left, but his index finger was twitching when he wanted it to move.

 

‘I have it! Dad – your finger, it’s moving… Okay, we need to use that while I put this in.’ He looked nervous, and Tony saw the blood that coated a small section of his hair. He groaned slightly, and it looked like it scared Peter even more. ‘Okay, okay yeah I can do this… can you tap me?’ He picked up Tony’s hand and put it on his knee carefully, he tapped, and Peter smiled brightly. ‘Tap me if I’m doing something wrong, one blink for yes, two for no?’ Tony tapped his finger, blinked once, then twice, and Peter smiled even wider. ‘Okay, have I lined it up properly?’ He blinked once, yes. ‘Do I just push it in?’ He blinked twice. ‘No? Oh right – uh, the cords, right?’ Yes. ‘I’ll do them now – tap if I mess up’ he blinked once in a go ahead and Peter obliged quickly. The cords were a bit difficult, because he couldn’t really see where they needed to go with his hand in the way, and he tried really hard not to touch the sides or push too hard, but his eyes kept darting back to Tony’s worriedly and he would blink once in affirmation.

 

‘Okay, I did the cords, do I – do I push it in now?’ Tony blinked. ‘Is there a certain way it has to line up or does it just go in?’ Tony blinked twice. ‘Just like this?’ Yes. Peter slotted it into place carefully. ‘Did I do it – is it working?’ He blinked once, and Peter blew out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. ‘Can I do anything else? Is there anything to stop the paralysis?’ Two blinks. He paused and his eyes were shiny with tears as he spoke meekly, ‘c – can I rest my head o – on your shoulder please?’ His voice was shaky, and Tony wanted nothing more than to wrap him up in his arms. One blink and Peter sunk into his chest, wrapping his arms around his neck and crawling into his lap. He splayed his legs out and pushed his nose into the space between Tony’s neck and chin like always.

 

‘That was… I didn’t like that – he – I thought you were gonna… you looked hurt, he hurt you.’ Tony felt wetness below his chin and he realised Peter was crying. He pulled himself closer to his Dad and sniffled quietly. ‘He was mean’ he laughed dryly through his tears and somehow, Tony found the strength to blow out and it rustled Peter’s hair, making him squeeze closer.

 

He didn’t know how long they both sat like that for, but the entire time he was working his body and trying to move, to make a sound, to do anything. At first, he couldn’t do anything more than tap a few fingers, blink or blow air, but eventually he could make small noises, then clench his fist, then shake his leg, then move his head. He was able to say a few words at once and at one point he used all his energy to wrap his arms over Peter’s back.

 

‘Pe – ete?’

 

‘Dad.’ He looked up through his lashes and smiled hopefully.

 

‘Did good’ he forced his face into a smile and dropped his head down to press his somewhat functional lips against the boy’s curls. He was so proud of his kid.

 

After the fight, when he had regained everything, he curled up with Peter in his room and told him how amazing he was. ‘You saved my life, you did so well. What did I do to deserve someone like you, huh kid?’ He pulled the boy closer and tucked his head into his chest. ‘You are so strong, and so, so brave baby, you know that?’

 

‘Dad, I – I was so scared. I was terrified… I thought he was going to kill you and I was just… I wasn’t able to fight him or get the reactor back and I just –’

 

‘Pete, hey, listen to me a sec’ he pushed his chin up to meet his gaze with two fingers, running them along his jawline. ‘You were scared, and that’s normal, but you still fought, you still kicked and struggled and woke up even after you got a nasty cut on your head.’

 

‘Yeah I know, but I didn’t –’

 

‘Hold on, let me finish. You were terrified, rightfully so, but you still fought, and that is exactly what makes you brave. That’s what makes you strong, not how successful you were in winning a fight with someone twice your size, which you did actually really well, he would have had to get his knee checked out.’ Peter laughed, and the hum felt good against Tony’s chest, because his kid was okay, his kid was happy. ‘You had reason to be scared, hell, I was terrified. Before you came in all I could think was that he would hurt you or – or worse, and I’d just be stuck on the couch, watching.’ He instinctively hugged tighter and Peter did the same.

 

‘I love you Dad.’

 

‘I love you too baby, thanks for saving my life.’

 

‘Anytime’ he joked, and it was Tony’s turn to laugh.

 

\----

 

He wished it had happened like that this time. He wished that he could have saved Peter that quickly, and he wished he was the one who sustained the worst injuries, because even if Peter had a healing factor now, he in no way deserved that pain.

 

He sat on the bed, curled around his son protectively, avoiding as many tubes and wires and bandages as he could, which was impossible because almost all of his son was wrapped in gauze and tape and other medical things. They made him look even smaller than he already was, and the outlines of every one of his ribs were visible, his wrists look like they would snap if the wind blew too hard, and his cheekbones and eyes were so sharp and accentuated that he looked like someone had over carved a marble statue of himself.

 

“Oh, baby I’m so sorry…” He brushed hair away from the boy’s face and assessed the visible wounds, his black eyes weren’t as swollen as before, but looked darker under the lights in the med bay. His hand was limp and cold when he held it, but he pressed a kiss to his knuckles and rubbed some warmth into them. His face was devoid of any expression, and although it not being scrunched in pain was an improvement, it wasn’t covered by the lopsided smile that so often graced it.

 

“Tony” he looked behind him instantly, wrapping himself around the unconscious teen on pure instinct, feeling threatened by the unannounced voice. “Tones, it’s just me,” he looked to see Rhodey and he managed an unconvincing smile that didn’t impact his eyes. “It’s been thirteen hours since he got out of surgery, he isn’t expected to wake up for another day or so. You need to shower, eat something, have a glass of water, change your clothes – that one’s important. Peter can’t wake up and see you in bloody clothes Tony, that’s not fair.”

 

“I – I can’t just leave him here…” Rhodey sighed, but he was clearly expecting the argument, because he had a compromise prepared already.

 

“Fine, shower next door when I’ve brought you down some fresh clothes, I’ll stay with Peter and when you get back I’ll have Steve make something for everyone to eat, okay?” He nodded slowly and turned back to Peter, running a careful finger over his cheek lightly.

 

“He’s so… the man who did this – Ryan – he really, god, he – he fucking enjoyed it Rhodes. I saw him, I heard what he said while I was kicking the crap out of him.” He didn’t look his friend in the eye but heard him as he sat in the chair beside the bed.

 

“I’m here to listen Tony, and you should know it isn’t your fault in any way. Yeah, the guy is really messed up, but you do need to talk about it to someone at some point. It’s a traumatic experience that you aren’t going through alone.” He blinked, snuggling closer to Peter and rolling to face the chair.

 

“When I was screaming at him and hitting him during the fight, he was smiling. He said – he said he liked the way… the way Peter screamed ‘so pretty’ he called it. I felt sick, and I lost control, I smashed his nose and it felt good… But I was so caught up I didn’t even realise that Peter was still… He was still strapped to the table, crying through a fucking gag and asking for me – and – and I just…” He choked on a sob and paused to press his forehead against Peter’s, cupping both his cheeks in his hands softly. He pulled away and turned back to Rhodey, still keeping one arm wrapped around the teen and one hand holding his. “I just can’t deal with the fact that I was actually that close to… losing him. They were one experiment away from – from killing him, and if they had… if they had killed him, there would have been nothing I could have done.” Rhodey looked at him sympathetically, he leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder comfortingly, silently encouraging him to say the main thing he was thinking.

 

“If Peter died, he would have died alone, in pain, and possibly not knowing how much he fucking means to me… they would have killed him and all he would have been able to do was say a goodbye to a video camera and hope that I would see it. I – I’m all the family he has, and I let him down… if he died, it would have been blood on my hands.”

 

“That isn’t true.” Rhodey shifted in the chair so he was fully facing Tony before speaking again. “That isn’t true because you did save him, you were in time, you got the guy who did this to him, you’ve been by his side since you found him, and you so obviously adore the kid that I am positive he knows, more than the rest of us, how much he means to you.

 

“I just… he means everything to me – he is everything to me, this kid is my whole world and I can’t – I can’t deal knowing what happened to him… what if he’s hurt emotionally too badly, what if he’s never the same Peter I knew… what if he has serious brain damage Rhodey? How the hell am I supposed to live with myself knowing he’s ruined because I couldn’t get to him in time?”

 

“You’re not the same Tony as before Afghanistan” he tensed at the mention. “No offense Tones, but you were better after that, when you made Iron Man? The wormhole? Civil War? You’ve grown so much and sure, the memories hurt, they’re hard to deal with, but you’re a hero now, and not just to the media and little kids, but to the person that matters most, your child. He believes you’re a hero, so why can’t it be the exact same for him? Why can’t he walk away from this with bad memories, but grow into such a better person from it?” He gaped, he tugged Peter’s limp body closer to himself, so he was completely tucked onto his lap. “I doubt he has brain damage, but Cho and the other doctors said when he wakes up they’re running a test to make sure.”

 

“Jesus Rhodes… I – no… that isn’t fair.” He tilted his head in question and Tony answered hesitantly. “I needed Afghanistan to push me away from the weapons business, I got dunked in water a few times and yelled at before I escaped and look how many nightmares I still have? Remember right after New York, all the anxiety attacks I had? What Peter had already gone through before this was too much, and I had to regularly rock him back to sleep from nightmares… what’s it going to be like now? You saw the videos and the photos and everything, they practically pulled him apart and shoved him back together again… they tortured him worse than anything I know, they emotionally manipulated him and told him he was a freak and nobody would ever love him enough to save him – this isn’t the same level, this is – this… what he went through is going to haunt him for the rest of his life, and that’s not even the beginning of it.”

 

“No matter how bad he is for the time before he starts to recover, this kid has the Avengers on his side and possibly the most caring Father. He’s gonna be alright.”

 

“But will I be?” He looked down at the tiny hand he clutched in his own and a small tear fell to the bed.

 

“Tony, I will make sure you and Peter get through this. I don’t care how hard it is, you will be okay.”

 

“I should shower before he wakes up…” He combs his fingers through Peter’s hair and begins to move slowly, sliding out from underneath him and readjusting how he laid on the bed. He pressed a kiss to his forehead and murmured a promise to be right back. “Thank you, seriously… I wish I had told you about Peter when I told Pepper and Happy.”

 

“Yeah man, Iron Patriot is great with babies, I’m offended.” He smiled as Tony walked out of the door backwards.

 

“That was a terrible name, War Machine is better, and you know it.” He returned his friends smile and hurried to the shower, clutching a pile of clothes to his chest and thinking of Peter.

 

\----

 

It was the list that got him. He had showered, dressed, eaten and had half a bottle of water, mostly just to please Rhodey and Steve who were still on his back about being healthy for Peter’s sake. He was back on the bed, admittedly feeling slightly better, when Helen walked in with her clipboard.

 

“This is all the information on Peter and his condition. Everything on that is either very likely what happened, or definitely what happened. Until he wakes up we can’t know for sure, and we won’t force him to talk about it either. You can look, or you can leave it by the bed, some of the things we guessed are quite… unpleasant, so if you want to read it you need to be sure you can handle it. Knowing what may or may not trigger or upset him when he wakes could be quite a good thing, but only if you think you can deal with it, okay?” He nodded and thanked her.

 

“Thank you, honestly, for – for everything. I was wondering though, uh, if there was anything you could tell me about if he could have any sort of long-lasting physical issues or brain – brain damage?”

 

“At the moment, I don’t know enough about his healing factor to say whether he’s going to have scars or not, but I can say that during the surgery we didn’t find any indicators of serious brain damage, but we still need to confirm that with tests once he wakes up.” She sounded optimistic, and that was enough for Tony.

 

“What would brain damage l – look like?” She pondered for a moment before replying.

 

“Well it ranges from very minor things like a stutter or temporary memory loss, sometimes even as little as a headache and drowsiness. It can also be the complete opposite, although that is very unlikely in this case because we would normally notice red flags by now.”

 

“What does the serious side look like?”

 

“Loss of motor functions, multiple forms of amnesia, coma, complete alter in behaviour and personality, social and emotional issues, loss of senses, seizures, an inability to use speech and language skills and cognitive deficits. When there are serious lasting effects it can be extremely hard on the patient and their family Tony, but I seriously doubt Peter is going to suffer from any of that. He could develop some issues because of the emotional trauma of his injuries, but with a supporting environment I’m sure he’ll be okay in the long-run.”

 

“Th – thanks Cho.” She smiled sadly and left him alone with the clipboard and Peter. He sighed and ran a gentle hand over his son’s fingers.

 

“I’m gonna make sure you’re okay baby.” He moved the clipboard to the chair and laid down more, resting his cheek on Peter’s head and closing his eyes. He fell into a light sleep only because his son was finally in his arms and home again.

 

When he woke up he was disheartened. Peter’s nose and brows were crumpled in a pained expression and his lips were slightly parted. He pressed the call button and Helen was in the room with him after barely two minutes.

 

“He’s in pain… he wasn’t before, is something going wrong?” Helen looked slightly nervous when she entered the room, but when she saw the problem her face regained its composure easily and she smiled sweetly, picking something up from one of the draws.

 

“He may be in some more pain then before but that’s perfectly normal, it just means he’s burnt through most of the pain meds. It could even indicate his healing ability is kicking in, but I can’t say that for sure. It is a good thing, patients who fall into coma’s or are already in them don’t react in any way to pain when the medication wears off, so this just means he won’t become comatose.”

 

“I didn’t even know there was a possibility that he might go into a coma…” He watched as more fluids were injected into Peter’s IV and he waited to see if his face would soften.

 

“There’s always a chance that patients with extensive injuries may be administered a medically induced coma or their bodies fall into one in order to recover.” She wrote something down on his file, probably about the medicine dose she just gave him, before looking to Tony again. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

 

“How long until you think he wakes up again?”

 

“I thought a day or two and it’s already been –” she glanced at her watch, “twenty-eight hours since he was out of surgery.”

 

“So soon then?”

 

“I would think so, yes.” There was a beat in the conversation, he assumed she was waiting to see if he needed anything else, which he didn’t, so she smiled again, assured him Peter would be okay, and left again.

 

“Please wake up soon kiddo, I miss those eyes and that smile. I’m going to make sure I see those again baby.” He pressed a kiss to his temple and relaxed beside the boy again, determined to stay next to him until he woke up.

 

It took just over eight more hours, so thirty-six in total, before anything changed. One minute he was fine, his face had softened just after Helen had left, and the next his finger twitched where Tony was holding it. “Pete?” No words, but his brows furrowed slightly at the voice. Tony propped himself up and faced the boy fully, eagerly watching for something more.

 

\----

 

‘Wake up Spider.’ He let his chest rise and fall unsteadily again, breathing as shallow as humanly possible to ease the pain on his broken ribs. ‘C’mon Petey, let me see those tears huh?’ He couldn’t help but sniffle at the voice, he thought he was home, he thought this was over, he had said he couldn’t do it anymore… where was his Dad? ‘You’re just not opening your eyes now, it’s obvious when you’re awake.’ Ryan sounded angrier now, maybe he should just open his eyes and face him when he was this mad, rather than wait until he flew off the handle and did something worse. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, no matter how afraid of the consequences he knew there would be, the idea of opening his eyes and seeing for real that he was back there, was terrifying to him. ‘Peter!’ He whimpered when the fist slammed down next to his ear, barely missing his shoulder. ‘Last warning kid – open your eyes or you’ll regret it.’ He tried to open his eyes, he did, he really tried to force them open, but they just wouldn’t. It was like he was trapped in a dream where he had to run but his legs wouldn’t move, or they did just too slowly. That’s what his eyes were doing, they felt too tight to open, and maybe they were, maybe he just had so little strength that opening his eyes was an impossible task for the teen who used to catch cars going eighty.

 

‘That’s fucking it,’ Ryan said in a low voice. ‘Do it!’ He tensed, waiting for something to happen, and when it did, he was unprepared. Simultaneously, his eyes, mouth and wounds were all opened. Someone shone flashing lights, like a portable version of the ones in his cell, directly into his eyes, and now they felt like they wouldn’t close. The doctors were shoving football length pieces of tube down his throat and he couldn’t breathe at all, his nose was filled with water and he was drowning again. His injuries were all torn apart at once, everything that had just closed up or scabbed over were scraped open again, and it burned all over, white hot pain, it felt like someone had peeled all the skin off his body and he was just a small child made of bleeding muscle, chained to the same table as Ryan stroked at his face and petted his hair as doctors shoved things down his throat and guards pulled his joints apart.

 

He screamed, he wailed, he begged, pleaded, bargained, cried, whimpered, screamed more, passed out, smacked his head against the metal beneath him, but nothing would stop the pain. It followed him like a bad smell and a haunting memory, it wouldn’t go away, it didn’t cease for one second and he would do anything, anything in the entire world to just not feel any of it anymore. He wanted his Dad, he needed his Dad to save him, but he knew it had all been a dream, a delusion and a very realistic one too. Maybe he had finally snapped into a million fragments and just didn’t know yet, maybe he was crazy now, because they took him apart and stitched him together, so they could do it all again in another way. If he could just see his Dad once more, just one more time so he could say how sorry he was and how much he missed him, as long as he could say those three words he hadn’t on the morning they took him… as long as he could just do that, maybe, maybe he would be okay. Maybe he could let go and just lie there and take whatever surgery and torture method the men wanted him to suffer through. Maybe if his Dad understood how hard he had tried to hold out for him, how hard he had tried to fight, maybe his Dad could forgive him for not making it back home.

 

‘Maybe… maybe your Dad never wanted you to come home. Maybe he’s relieved you’re here and you’re being properly dealt with and picked apart. Maybe everyone is happier you’re with me now Peter. Ever think of that Pete? Petey, Spider…’

 

‘No.’

 

His Dad loved him.

 

That was the only thing he was sure of.

 

He was Tony Stark’s son, and he was loved.

 

‘Shhhh, no you don’t get to sleep, you know why?’ He tried to press his lips closed but the tubes were still there, and his eyes wouldn’t shut, and everything was too much, his senses were being assaulted and he was burning all over from the pain and he wanted his Dad so badly it hurt almost as much as everything else did.

 

A different pain spread across his cheek, it was sharper, more concise like a frozen slap rather than an all-over fiery ache. ‘That was a direct question and you know that you answer those’ Ryan warned, too loudly for Peter’s senses.

 

‘I – I – I don’ – don’ know why…’

 

‘You’re ignorant. You aren’t allowed to sleep because you don’t deserve the rest. You freak mutants don’t need rest, you need experimentation… you deserve hell for what you are – disgusting abominations.’

 

‘No… we – we’re hero’s, we u – use our powers to help…’

 

‘No, you don’t, do you know how many people have died because of people like you? You don’t understand that you don’t have to be a freak to save people, over half of the Avengers are just intelligent, trained, normal people.’

 

‘Pl – please… I – I jus’ wanna help people… I jus’ wanna save – save and pro’ec’…’

 

‘You’re so weak you can’t even speak properly – you are nothing but a kid who became a freak, you’ve always been pathetic, you’ve always been weak, you will always be a sixteen-year-old kid that Daddy didn’t save in time.’

 

‘Daddy?’

 

‘Yeah… he was too late for you – you’re already gone just like the others.’

 

Everything was flying, everything was lifting up, but he was sinking like a stone, just like the arc reactor when his Dad threw it into the sea, just like his Dad falling from the hole in the sky…

 

‘No! No, please, no! Ryan no! Dad! Help save me! Don’t be too late, I’m dying – I’m dying! Save me! Anyone please, please! Help? Somebody? Daddy…’

 

It was pressing down on him. He was being crushed again. This felt just like the tubes down his throat except they were concrete and so much bigger. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t be saved.

 

‘Hello? Hello! Please, hey! Hey, please! I’m – I’m – I’m down here! I’m down here, I’m stuck. I’m stuck, I can’t move! – I can’t… Dad? Dad? Hello? Where are you?’

 

‘Peter? Peter!’

 

‘Dad!’

 

‘The reactor, please! I can’t move, you have to wake up! Peter! Wake up and save me! Peter? Pete?’

 

‘I’m stuck! I don’t know how to – please Dad help me! Help me breathe and I can get the reactor!’

 

Silence.

 

‘Dad? Dad!’

 

‘Too late Peter… too slow to save your Dad. And you still expect him to save you… Pathetic.’

 

‘Ryan! Please, please! No… no…’

 

\----

 

“Peter?” His face crumpled, and he could see the tears in Peter’s eyes, but he couldn’t stop them as they fell. His lips murmured, and he whimpered in his sleep, his fingers twitched and his chest was hitching and the heart rate monitor was beeping too much and he could hear people running but all he could see was his son, so small in the double bed, covered in tubes and wires and crying, muttering and screaming while asleep… screaming for him… begging with Ryan and saying goodbye.

 

“Peter wake up! I’m here, I’m here! Wake up please – please Dad’s here, I’m here baby…. Pleasepleaseplease open your eyes Petey.” The doctors rushed in and saw the boy, it was what they expected when the screams had started and echoed throughout the entire level of the tower, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch a child have a panic attack within his own nightmare.

 

“Mr. Stark you need to step outside for a moment, so we can deal with Peter –”

 

“No! Please, just wake him up and he’ll be okay… I’m here, once he sees me he’ll be okay – no! No get off me – stop! Peter! Peter I’m here!”

 

“Tony, Tony it’s me, it’s Steve. Please just take a breath, you’re working yourself up, it’s just a nightmare and they’re giving him some sedatives now.”

 

“What? No, no sedatives!”

 

“Tony, they have to calm him down enough to treat the wounds he’s already re-opened.”

 

“Move!” He squirmed past the man, banging his arm on the door was the least of his worries as he ran back into the room. “Peter!”

 

“Someone get him out of here!”

 

“Wait I can – I can calm him down I swear, just let me hold him! Let me hold my son! I do it whenever he has nightmares, please it’ll calm him down!”

 

“Tony, the doctors need –”

 

He lunged at the bed and crawled into Peter’s side, ignoring the cries of annoyance from the doctors in favour of comforting his thrashing child. Tears had soaked his bandages and blankets and he was hyperventilating to the point of blue lips and it was a bad nightmare. It was worse than any nightmare he had ever experienced, but he knew his baby, and he knew how to stop it.

 

“Peter, I’m here, shhh, shhh, baby it’s okay… it’s okay because you’re safe, you’re safe now.” He ran his hands over the boy’s elbows and slid them up to his shoulders, steadying his flailing arms that were trying to block blows that weren’t even there. He considered straddling the teen to stop him from kicking out, but it felt too forceful, and he needed to be gentle with him. Instead, he shuffled until he was sitting next to him at the top of the bed, and he pulled him down horizontally, so his head laid in his lap and the rest of their bodies were either entwined or sprawled across the mattress.

 

His arms slowed down and he was trying to cover his face with them as if someone were hitting him, but Tony didn’t let him, he just calmly tucked the boy’s hands into his lap and began to run his fingers through his curls soothingly, scratching his scalp and running his nails over the nape of his neck until he stilled completely, which was almost ten minutes later. “Shhh, good boy baby, you’re doing amazing, just focus on breathing, you’re not there, it’s not real – I’m the real thing and you can wake up when you need to, it’s all going to be okay now. Peter sniffed and raised his hands up, mimicking the movement of a baby reaching for its mobile, rather than a tortured teen reaching for his Dad. He moved the fingers out of his head and guided Peter’s hands around his own neck and leant forward, so he could lace his fingers together. “You hold on to me Peter and it’s all going to be okay,” he brought his hand back into his hair and swirled a tuft of tighter curls around his finger. Peter whimpered and pushed his head up and further into Tony’s lap, rolling over and nuzzling his face into his hipbone and mewling softly as his hair was untangled with the utmost care. “I know baby, it’s okay now – I’m here, I won’t go anywhere until you want me to, everything is up to you okay Petey, you don’t have to wake up yet if you don’t want to… just know I miss you baby.” Peter stilled, and his fingers tensed against Tony’s neck. He leaned back slightly to look at the boy’s face, which was red from the crying, pale from the shock and a range of colours from green to blue to purple and black from the bruising. His eyes were fluttering open slowly. He was finally waking up.

 

“D – Da – Daddy?”

 

“Hi baby” he choked back a sob as Peter tipped forwards. “Hey, be careful Pete –”

 

“Dad!” He dropped his weight and fell into Tony’s arms, his own fingers scrabbling at his Father’s back and burying his face in his shirt, trying to bury his tears with it. “Dad, Dad, D – Daddy” he sobbed and wrapped himself around the man and clung to him like he would disappear if he didn’t.

 

“Mr. Stark, we need to do something about the re-opened wounds” one of the doctors stepped forward and Peter screamed.

 

He screamed.

 

“No! No please! Please, Daddy no, no, no… I’m sorry – I – I’m sorry, please, please I – I don’t, please not again! I – I can’t, I’m sorry. I w – I won’t do it again, please, please! No more, no more doctors, please, I’ll behave… I’m sorry, m’ sorry, m’ so sorry…”

 

‘Sorry doesn’t cut it…’ He was back on that rooftop.

 

“No… please – please you have to un – understand! I am… I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry Dad. Please, just – just please don’t let them… don’t let the doctors…” 

 

He was slumping in Tony’s grip, he could feel the boy losing himself, waging a war against his own head. He recognised how terrified Peter was, and he understood how waking up disorientated and unsure of where you were was exactly what made bad memories flood back. He knew why his child was scared, and rationally, he knew there was no actual threat, but the sight of a bawling, frightened, apologising Peter was enough to shake him up, to say the least.

 

“Go, please – he’s scared of you, just wait outside and let me calm him down, I – I know how to do the bandages if he won’t calm.” Helen and the rest of the doctors were extremely hesitant, and Steve looked like seeing Peter upset shook him up almost as much as Tony, but that was probably because he didn’t deal with nightmares and panic attacks as often as the two Stark’s did.

 

“I think he’s right guys… um, we need to give them space now, Tony knows what he’s doing.” He helped to usher the doctors out and gave Tony one last look of sympathy and concern before pulling the door closed behind him.

 

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay, it’s all gonna be okay now.” He rubbed circles into Peter’s back soothingly and continued to hush him as he rocked in place slowly, his own tears finally spilling down his cheeks even as the teen’s breaths evened out. “These doctors won’t come near you unless you’re okay with it, I promise. I’m going to stay with you, everything’s okay.” He tipped Peter’s head back slightly, expecting him to be asleep, but he was met with the precious, hazel orbs that he had loved since he first saw them. They were wide, and he was looking around the room every few seconds, always pulling his gaze back to his Dad.

 

“M’ sorry…” He blinked as a fresh tear rolled down his cheek, but Tony caught it with his thumb and swiped it away softly.

 

“No, no baby it’s not your fault, none of this is your fault. You don’t have to apologise for anything, and I am not letting anyone hurt you, okay?” The boy listened as his Dad spoke, and he felt safer, until he realised it was a question and he faltered, heart racing as he tried to form a response in time to avoid punishment.

 

“Y – yes, I know – I know. I understand.” Tony noticed how his heart sped up, the beeping of the machine told him quite obviously.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s alright. That wasn’t – I wasn’t telling you to understand then, I was just talking, you can tell me what’s making you upset.”

 

“I – you… asked a d – direct question so I had to – I… I don’t know, it’s – it’s just reflex now I think…” This was helping, he tried to remember that this was helping, understanding what Peter had been through was helping him get to know the triggers. Don’t ask direct questions because he thinks he has to answer…

 

“That’s okay, it’s okay. Just try to remember now that if someone asks you something, you don’t have to answer anymore if you don’t want to. Nobody is going to… punish you if you don’t answer, I won’t let anything like that happen.” Peter reached a quivering finger out and Tony enveloped him in a hug again, letting the boy’s small head rest over his shoulder.

 

“Th – thank you, for coming for me, a – and saving me… I – I was – it was…” he pulled in a shaky breath and pulled back from the embrace, just enough to look up into his Dad’s face shyly as he forced out the words. “It was the scariest thing, b – because I thought he was going to kill me before I could see you again,” his throat bobbed as he began to sob again. “I thought I was never gonna see you again, he m – made me say goodbye to you a – and I did and then – then he said I only had one more left till he was gonna kill me and I knew you were coming but – but I thought… I thought I was gonna go before you found me – I was gonna die without telling you I loved you – Daddy!” He fell back against Tony’s chest and heaved in breaths, trying to stay calm as the memories of him murmuring his goodbyes in front of a camera filled his head. “I don’t wanna go Dad, I can’t leave you.”

 

Tony placed his hands over Peter’s cheeks and tilted his face towards his own, until their noses were practically touching.

 

“Peter, listen very carefully, because I swear on my life. I swear that I would never – never let you die. Nobody is going to lay a finger on you from now onwards, because I am not losing you. I would not ever let someone kill you.” He pressed a kiss to Peter’s hairline and pulled him closer, feeling better when the heart rate monitor slowed down to an almost normal speed.

 

“I love you” Peter whispered, his trembling hands finding their way back around Tony’s neck as they both leant back against the pillows.

 

“You have no idea how much I love you back baby.” Peter burrowed snugly into his Dad’s neck and pressed his nose against the pulse point. “Is there too much pain?”

 

“Not anymore, you’re here now.” Tony smiled and inspected the teen for any more blood.

 

“Was it just the shock of waking up, or are the doctors too much to deal with right now?”

 

“I – I think just waking up, but when they walked towards me or wrote on the clipboards it – I think it’s just too similar… maybe the lady with the dark hair is okay?”

 

“Helen Cho?”

 

“Y – yeah, I think that’s her name. It’s just, um, the male doctors… a – are too much.”

 

“Okay, I’ll buzz her in, so she can fix the bandages for you, that’s okay.” He pressed the call button and asked specifically for just Helen, his hold on Peter never wavering. “You know I’m going to stay here the whole time, and as soon as you start to feel any pain or want it to be just us again you can let me know and I’ll make sure of anything for you… you’re safe here.” Peter nodded and pressed his cheek closer to Tony’s chest.

 

There was a soft knock at the door and Tony triple checked with Peter before inviting Helen in. He was beyond thankful to see that she wasn’t wearing her white coat or nametag. She looked at him carefully and he pulled Peter to his side and motioned for her to come in.

 

“Hello Peter, I’m Helen. Just going to change the bandages and check your vitals, let me know if you feel any pain.”

 

“Okay” he said quietly, inching his free hand into Tony’s sleeve so their fingers brushed together. His eyes followed her around the room as she collected various pieces of cloth and gauze. When she was done getting everything she needed, Peter relaxed slightly as he realised there were no actual tools, just pre-cut gauze strips and self-adhesive tape.

 

“I’m going to start unwrapping your knee now, it’s the only part of this leg that needs redressing.” It wasn’t a question, but Peter nodded and shifted his leg, so it was closer to the side of the bed she was standing on. “Thank you” she praised, giving him a sweet smile which he found difficult to return from where his face was half buried in Tony’s chest.

 

“Hey, buddy, after you have some clean bandages, you want something to eat and drink?” He didn’t want to worry his Dad after how he had woken up, so he worded his response carefully.

 

“Um, m’ not feeling that hungry...” He felt Helen unwrapping his knee, but nothing hurt so he figured they had him pretty dosed up on meds. Tony’s face pinched slightly in worry and he looked over Peter again, taking in how much narrower his limbs were, remembering how the brush of his jutting ribs had felt against his own chest as he carried the frail teen to the Quinjet.

 

“Pete…” He rubbed a finger over his cheek and tried not to think about how angular and scrawny his son’s facial features were now.

 

“If I may interject Mr. Stark, it’s quite normal for patients to not be hungry after surgery. The anaesthetics wearing off often cause nausea and lack of appetite, so there shouldn’t be much to worry about here.” She didn’t look up from where she was moving onto Peter’s hipbone, but he felt the boy’s chin lift.

 

“Y – you gave me anaes – anaesthetic?” He looked down at him and concern grew in his gut when he saw the watery look in his eyes.

 

“Of course we did Pete… what’s the matter?” The teen blinked back up at him and his lashes fluttered as a small tear fell.

 

“Th – thank you so much” he looked so overtly grateful, and when Tony connected the dots as to why something so simple was making his son so beholden, he felt marginally sicker.

 

“Oh – oh… uh, yeah, no problem buddy.” He pulled the boy closer against his side and blew out a shaky breath, mouthing ‘later’ at Helen as she looked to him quizzingly. He pressed a kiss into the unruly curls and tried not to think about how Peter must have felt, strapped to a bench and cut into and taken apart without anaesthetics. He refused to let go of the trembling teen when his shoulder was re-wrapped, but he did shuffle to the side to give Cho more access. When she finished and had thrown away the old gauze and double-checked vitals, Tony grew uneasy as he realised she needed to jot down the figures on the clipboard.

 

“Uh, Pete, can you look at me for a sec please.” He eyed Helen, who was unaware of the issue with writing on a clipboard and watched as she picked up a pen. Peter looked up at him with such trusting eyes and fondness settled in his gut alongside the worry. “How’re you doing, feeling tired?”

 

“Not really, just… I don’t know – on edge I think.” Luckily, his eyes stayed fixed on Tony as he spoke, and by the time he had pushed the words out Helen was leaving the room.

 

“That’s – okay, that’s good. I’m really proud of you baby, you’re so brave.” He pulled Peter back into his lap and smiled when the small arms folded around his neck again. “Once you feel better I’m gonna have to get you eating a lot more, you’re – you’ve lost a lot of weight…” His son was never the largest kid, always lanky and packing little muscle and body fat, but when he had gotten his powers he ate like Steve did but never gained anything. He remembered the morning the scrawny kid had woken with a six-pack and stuck to the ceiling like a demon. After that, Peter would use his powers for good and bad, good being sticking to the roof when unexpected guests came around and he needed to hide away while Tony chatted. Bad being occasionally wall-crawling at three in the morning to get a glass of water and inadvertently scaring the shit out of his Dad.

 

“I – yeah… I ate everything they gave me but… sometimes the pain was too much, and I’d throw up and ha – have to wait two more days for bread. M’ sorry, I don’t wanna make you upset…” He tightened around Tony’s neck and pulled himself closer, nuzzling his nose in further.

 

“It’s okay, it isn’t you fault, I – wait… did they – did you only eat every two days?” Peter shrugged and sniffled slightly at the memories, when he responded after a pause his whisper was sad and very soft.

 

“A cup of water each night before the chains and a piece of bread every two days… I – I wanted to ask for more but… I – I was too scared.” He tired not to show when his fists clenched and his teeth grinded together in fury, but he couldn’t stop a tear from falling into Peter’s hair.

 

“I’m so sorry… I – I…” he sighed and wanted his kid to be even closer, so he wrapped his arms around him and pressed every part of his small form even closer, pressing kisses over his head and caressing his hair as tenderly as he could. “I’m so sorry you had to go through all of this, and – and how I wasn’t there for so long, but I – I’m staying with you now and you aren’t ever going to be alone again, I swear.”

 

“I know – I know you’re gonna protect me… I just – it’s just hard to not think about stuff, an’ I can’t… it’s hard to forget things…” He sniffled again, and Tony scratched his scalp softly, murmuring comforting words into his hair.

 

“Peter… I know I never really…” he hesitated, wiping his cheek before returning his hand to the curls before him. “I know that I never really spoke about Afghanistan with you, or anyone really… and I probably should have, but I – I think to get through this we – you should talk about it. Not now, but… but when you’re better and it’s not so fresh, I can get you a really good th –”

 

“I don’ – I don’t want a therapist… I – I just wan’ you…”

 

“Okay baby, you don’t have to… I just don’t want you to feel like you only have me to talk with.” There was a beat and then he spoke again.

 

“Dad?” His voice was timid, as if he were hesitant to ask whatever he was thinking. He hummed in response, and Peter felt the vibration of his chest on his cheek. “Did – did you call… did you call the others to help find me?” Tony faltered for a moment, taken aback by the sudden subject change.

 

“Of course I did Peter, I didn’t care about anything except getting you back, I – I wanted all the help I could and…” He felt like he should talk about how he felt when he saw the footage of him being thrown into the van, or how useless and terrified he was when he ran out of leads, but he was never as open as Peter was. Honestly, he had no idea how the boy had grown up to be so open, sometimes he thought it was an unconscious way of making up for the fact that he was so emotionally shut off.

 

“Does that mean… do they – do they know about me?” He froze, his fingers stilling in the boy’s hair. The thought that Peter might not want the rest of the Avengers knowing had never really registered to him, he was honestly so caught up in the adrenaline of getting his son back that he didn’t consider the consequences.

 

“I – Peter I’m sorry, I just – I didn’t think about it, I was – I – I… I just needed you back.” He rested his forehead in Peter’s hair and curled his arms around the small form, squeezing him tighter.

 

“No! It – I don’t mind, I’ve – I’ve always kind of… wanted to meet them and know them as Peter Stark, but, I mean… the rule made sense so I never really, uh, said anything about it?”

 

The rule. The number one rule that Peter had to actually listen to. Don’t tell anyone that he was Tony Stark’s son. Jesus Christ that rule meant everything to him because he had an exact idea of how much danger he would be in if anyone knew about his blood relation. Pepper and Happy were the only people who knew, and that was only because they had been in his life for so long. He considered telling Rhodey for a while, but the involvement he had in the army made Tony uneasy, if he went rogue or accidentally let it slip, it would be too easy for him to access weapons. There was one incident, a very long time ago, when Peter was all of three or four, at a press event that he wasn’t even supposed to attend. He had very reluctantly let him come along under the guise of Happy’s nephew, but that was a one-off because Pepper had been out of town and there was nobody else he trusted to take care of the child for the night. He himself would have been in his early thirties at the time, and he regretted letting Peter come that night ever since, it was too close of a call and it was the most fear he had for his son up until Peter was taken almost three weeks ago. Making the horrible decision to fly into the hole above New York and risking the possibility of never making it out again was up there, because he could never leave Peter alone, but it was either that, or let the missile hit the city and hope that his child was out of the blast zone. Still, the memory of that event made him so much stricter on the rule, because aside from the unwanted media attention Peter would get, there was also the possibility of people using him as leverage or bargaining material against Tony, just like Obadiah had.

 

\----

 

‘Okay baby, one more time for me, huh? What’s your name?’ Peter giggled from where he was perched on Tony’s knees.

 

‘Parker!’ He shrieked, another fit of giggles erupting from his tiny form.

 

‘Good job, Peter Parker, don’t forget that alright? Okay, who’s your babysitter for the night?’ He pointed a finger at Happy, who poorly supressed a fond smile from the front seat of the limo. ‘There ya go kid!’ He picked the toddler up and hugged him tightly, kissing the curls that topped his small head. ‘One more for me kiddo, what do you say if anyone asks about how you know me?’

 

‘You’re Happy’s boss?’

 

‘Exactly, good boy Petey’ He snuggled the child closer and tried to push away the worry in his gut that had been growing ever since he realised his only option was to bring him along to the event.

 

‘I’ll keep him with me the whole night boss, don’t worry too much. I’ll even stay where you can see me as much as possible if that helps.’ Happy was smart enough to understand how protective he was of Peter, and he was glad he had someone else willing to look out for him. ‘We ready to head in?’

 

‘Yeah’ he swallowed and pressed one more kiss to the boy’s head before handing him to Happy and stepping out of the car. It was going to be harder for the man to juggle things tonight, because now he had to keep an eye out for Tony and the one thing he valued most, his kid. ‘Remind me to give you a bigger bonus this year Hap.’

 

‘Sure thing’ he said as he set Peter down gently and kept up with the child as he bounded on ahead, only looking back to check on his employer once or twice.

 

Tony did the regular thing, flashed a smile here and there, made small talk, signed some mediocre product ideas from fans, all while keeping a close eye on where Peter was from under his tinted glasses. Happy was definitely smart, keeping the child on the outskirts of the event and avoiding the paparazzi photo’s. His unease slowly filtered away as he noticed the glee in Peter’s wide eyes at all the stacks of scientific research and the towers of wine glasses. At one point he even saw the kid tug at Happy’s sleeve and say something like: ‘Mr. Happy look! That’s a picture of Doctor Banner, that’s so cool!’ His face was flushed with excitement and the rosy tint to his cheeks had spread over his small nose and forehead, there was an exited bounce in his steps and he almost felt glad that Peter was getting to experience something like this. Maybe, if the rest of the night went well he would bring the boy to the Christmas party, which was actually at the house and he got to choose who came.

 

‘Hey, when I get called up to speak do you mind taking him outside, just while the room’s less busy, so people don’t notice him too much?’

 

‘Uh, yeah sure, I think the kid wanted to hear you talk though.’ He smiled and bent down to talk to Peter who was babbling on about the pictures of Banner’s work he saw because he couldn’t ‘understand everything in his books yet.’

 

‘Hey buddy, is it true you wanted to hear me talk tonight?’ He nodded eagerly and bounced on his heels, resisting the urge to jump into Tony’s arms while people could be watching. ‘Okay, how about we make a deal then, if you’re good for Happy and play outside just while I do my speech, then I promise to read it for you in the car ride home. That sound fair?’

 

‘Yeah, okay. Can I come inside after and look at the displays?’ There were glass display cases that lined the back wall, and they were filled with miniature, plastic models of some of the weapons and Stark tech designs that weren’t released yet.

 

‘Sure’ he ruffled Peter’s hair and stood again, patting Happy on the shoulder. ‘Thanks, for keeping an eye on him tonight.’ He waltzed back to where the reporters were clustered and wound between some tables, drawing a few more eyes as he shook some more hands and answered questions.

 

‘What’s your statement on the possible release date of the newest Stark Pad model?’ Many questions flooded in about his work, or about competitors newest products compared to his own, rarely a few would drift in about what he thought about current media stories or scandals. Then, almost five minutes into the newest round of interviewers he had agreed to answer, a man from the back of the crowd yelled a question which had everyone leaning in eagerly to hear his answer and made his own heart stutter.

 

‘Mister Stark, who’s the young boy you were seen in the limousine with?’ He faltered, not expecting any questions about Peter in the slightest, but he recovered quick enough that he didn’t think anyone had noticed.

 

‘That’s my bodyguard’s nephew.’ He answered calmly, hoping the subject would change quickly so the attention would shift.

 

‘What’s his name?’ He licked his lip and clutched his glass tighter.

 

‘Why do you care?’ Someone moved a recorder closer to his face and he suddenly felt how dense the crowd was. He hoped they would move on and ask some other questions sooner rather than later, because the uneasy feeling was coming back.

 

‘Does he stay with you often, or do you not see him regularly?’ A different reporter asked this time, and he was beginning to feel more and more like they were all vulture’s, picking apart every aspect of his personal life just like the media. He needed to get the attention very far away from Peter or he was going to snap at them all and end up featured on the font page of the ‘hottest celeb stories of the week.’

 

‘Let’s just say the kid enjoys the latest Stark Pad update.’ He gave them a trademark smile and silently prayed they would take the bait.

 

‘Speaking of the latest update, would you comment on how much time you spend on weapons development compared to technological advances?’ He let out a breath and delved into the newest subject happily, glad that he diffused the worry in his gut. Only ten minutes later and he was being called to the stage for his ‘wise words’ as they were called, and he relaxed marginally as he saw Happy guiding Peter outside. He would prefer the attention all on him and not being able to have eyes on the boy, then being able to see him but having the possibility of reporters flocking the shy child.

 

‘Hey Pete, stay where I can see you,’ Happy called from behind. He slowed to a trot as he looked out at the city lights. The view was partially blocked by a clustering of trees but even from here Peter could tell that it was amazing to look at. He liked to count the different lights, yellow, orange, blue, red, they all shimmered and reflected in his widening eyes as he smiled gleefully. The view of the ocean that their house gave was breath-taking, but he didn’t see the city as often as many people would think, so when he did get the chance to see it’s lights, even from afar, it always stunned him into silence.

 

Happy was watching the kid, thirty or so paces behind him and only several strides away from the back entry to the event. He heard shoes clicking behind him, and he turned to see a female reporter with dark hair pinned back into a tight bun only a few steps from him.

 

‘Hello, Mister Hogan I presume?’

 

‘Uh, yeah that’s me. Can I help you?’ He stepped around her, so his back was to the doors and his front was facing so he could see Peter, who was still happily trotting along, staring at the skyline.

 

‘I hope so, may I ask you a few questions about working with Tony Stark?’ He hesitated, he wanted to watch the kid, but he didn’t want the interviewer’s attention on him.

 

‘It will only take a few minutes.’ He figured that with his eyes still on the boy and the reporters promise of not taking much time, he was safe to answer a couple of questions before getting back to Peter, which would give enough time for the woman’s attention to wander back inside and away from him and the toddler.

 

‘Alright, fine.’ She paused a moment, tucking her pen into her bun and flipping a page over on her notepad before beginning.

 

He was honestly fine on his own for the moment, tracing the building’s lines that were basked in the moonlight with his finger. He turned to see Happy talking to a woman in a fancy suit and figured she were one of the people who might ask him questions that he was warned about. He wanted to see the city without the trees in the way, so he kept walking, always turning back to check that the lady wasn’t going to ask him anything. When the trees broke he was even more amazed at how far the city actually stretched out across the sky.

 

‘Wow’ he breathed out, speaking softly to himself.

 

‘Wow indeed.’ He jumped and twirled around suddenly to see a tall man, wearing a sharp, grey suit and stepping on a cigarette to put out the glowing embers. He had dark hair and end even darker eyes, which were glued to Peter, who got the feeling that the man wasn’t talking about the city lights.

 

‘Uhm… sorry I didn’t know you were out here’ he shuffled back a step, but the man kicked some dirt over the discarded cigarette and moved closer toward him, laying a hand over Peter’s shoulder and squeezing tightly.

 

‘It’s no problem at all, no kid as small and cute as you could be a problem.’

 

‘Uh, th – thank you?’ The man just smiled from above him and laid his other hand on the opposite shoulder.

 

‘You’re with Stark, aren’t you?’ Something gleamed in his dark eyes and Peter began to feel very afraid. He looked back and saw that the trees covered the space where he had a clear view of Happy, now he couldn’t see him or the doors into the event where his Dad was speaking.

 

‘We – um, I’m not… I’m not with Mister Stark, he was just driven here by my Uncle Happy.’ His knees were wobbling under the intensity of the situation and he was mentally kicking himself for not staying where Happy could see him.

 

‘Ah, I see. But he does care about you, I know that. He ruffled your hair inside and talked to you before his speech, he also said something about you getting to have the newest tech models before he releases them. The big Tony Stark cares about a small little boy, that’s very helpful for someone like me, you know.’

 

‘I – I don’t know what that means, uh, M – Mister Stark doesn’t… I – I don’t…’ He was at a loss, he didn’t know what he was supposed to say to that, it wasn’t even a question. He knew what to do if someone asked him who he was or who he was here with, but he didn’t have an answer for if someone said things like what this man was. ‘I think I need to get back to – to my Uncle now Sir…’ He tried to step away, so the man’s hands would fall off his shoulders, but they only turned him around, so they were facing.

 

‘Did you just call me Sir?’ His lips quirked upward, and he looked down at the child with a calamitous fire burning deep in his gaze. Peter shuddered and nodded slowly, fearing he had done something wrong and desperately wanting to go back to Happy now. ‘That’s just the cutest thing isn’t it?’ He was smirking now, and the grip tightened enough to hurt. His breathing came too quickly, and his heart was thudding in his chest, he could feel it pounding in his skull and throat, he wanted his Dad. ‘Tell me, what’s your name?’

 

‘Parker! I – I um, I’m Parker… Peter. Peter Parker.’ He gulped as a blush spread across his face and he felt himself heat up as the man chuckled softly above him.

 

‘Well then, baby Peter Parker, what’s say we go for a little drive and give your Mister Stark a nice phone call then, come on.’ His hands moved down to Peter’s upper arms and gripped his biceps with intent to bruise as he pushed the boy forward slightly. He stumbled as his mouth caught up with his head.

 

‘N – no. I actually… I think I need to g – go now. Th – thank you.’ He tried to slip away from the man and his aching grip, but the only thing that happened was the fingers squeezed him until fingernails were breaking skin and he was roughly tugged backwards.

 

‘Nuh uh kid, you’re gonna come with me for a little bit.’ Peter yelped and felt his eyes burn with tears as his uneasiness gave way to pure terror.

 

‘Happy! Hel –’ his scream was cut off as a large hand clapped over his mouth and engulfed him in the disgusting scent of smoke and cheap cologne that smelt nothing like his Dad’s.

 

The reporter woman was only partway into asking her third or fourth question when Happy realised he couldn’t see Peter anymore.

 

‘I’m sorry but I’ll have to cut this short and end it here, I got something important to do now. You best head inside for the moment.’ When he stepped around her and began to move further away he had to hold a hand up as she started to protest. ‘Please Miss, my job takes priority here.’ She huffed and stormed back inside, her heels clicking on the pavement. He spun back to the yard and scanned the trees for Peter, thinking he could just be sitting down where the grass tipped downward slightly. He inspected the small bank where the tree line was, expecting and hoping to see the familiar tuft of brown hair poking out from the shrubs. ‘Shit, kid where’d you wander off to…’ he muttered to himself worriedly. He was just about to check inside for the boy on the off chance that he had somehow slipped by him while he was momentarily distracted, but then he heard it. A small cry before a very muffled call for help which was cut off by something, or someone.

 

‘Happy! Hel –’ As soon as he realised the yell had come from the other side of the trees he was running; new suit be damned because he wouldn’t let anyone hurt that kid.

 

‘Peter! I’m coming kiddo!’

 

After he yelled and subsequently was forced to deal with the stench of cigarettes and drugstore fragrance, he was panicking. There was a scary man trying to take him somewhere away from his Dad and Happy, and he was making it hard to breathe through the hand which was pressed against his face. There was no way he was going to be able to fight the man or manage to run away with the hold he had, and he was about to cry because he had no idea what to do. Thankfully, to Peter’s relief, he heard Happy respond from just behind the trees, but that also meant the man heard him too. It was obvious that the man wasn’t impressed, but his annoyance was really solidified in Peter’s mind when he growled from above him.

 

He actually growled.

 

Before he knew it, the vice-like hold the man had on Peter was being used to push him into the cluster of trees and forced forward until he was spun around wildly, and his back slammed against a tree trunk, the bark hard and sore against his soft skin. He scrabbled at the hand over his mouth and whimpered quietly until there was a heavy elbow being shoved against his sternum and windpipe. He was vaguely conscious of the fact that a choked off wheezing noise escaped his throat, but it was so stifled and obscured by the hand clamped down over his lips that he doubted anyone heard him except the man.

 

‘Stay fucking silent if you want to breathe’ the man leant all his weight on the small boy who was pressed up against the tree painfully. He was looking over his shoulder, and barely paying attention to Peter, whose teary eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his skull as the fear and lack of oxygen went straight to his head.

 

The man’s eyes tracked Happy as he frantically ran around the corner, head turning from side to side, searching for the small child who he had pinned against a tree. He wondered what was so special about the boy that had the famous Tony Stark wrapped around his finger. If he could tug at that small finger, he would be able to play the powerful and wealthy man like a fucking accordion. The thought of having the billionaire caught under his thumb made his face break into a depraved grin that let him bear his overly white teeth. ‘You’re a good kid, keep that mouth shut and just go to sleep.’ Peter whined helplessly as his vision faded and all he could feel was the piercing hands cutting into his skin unpleasantly.

 

Happy once again peered into the dark trees, craning his neck and praying the boy would make himself known.

 

‘Peter! Where are you kid?’ He strained to hear something, anything, but the only noise were the rustling of leaves as the wind blew and the white noise of the city drifting up to where the press event was being held. He needed to call Tony and let him know the situation, so he could help search for his son, but as he scrolled through his contacts he saw the boy’s name on the screen and had an idea. He hit the button and waited for the ringtone to sound as he squinted into the inky blackness of the trees.

 

Something vibrated against the man’s leg and for a split-second relief washed over him as he realised the boy’s phone was on silent. That was before Happy pressed the override key Tony had installed and the kid’s phone was blaring from inside his jacket. He fumbled and switched it off, his breathing hot and heavy against Peter’s unconscious face. Why the hell did a toddler even have a phone, let alone a Stark branded one?

 

‘Hey! Get away from him!’ Happy yelled gruffly as he charged down the bank and into the trees, eyes widening in anger as he saw the stranger holding the unconscious child against rough bark.

 

‘Shit’ he cursed and pushed back off the tree, scooping the small, limp form in his arms and beginning to make a run for it. He made it all of five strides before he was being bawled over into the ground, the boy falling from his arms and rolling away from him. ‘What the hell – get off me!’ He pushed at Happy who was holding him down and yelling something about ‘innocent kid’ and ‘not even four yet.’ He threw a fist at the bodyguard’s face and he dodged majority of the blow, but still managed to be clipped on the cheek by his knuckles. He was meeting the wrong end of a taser before he could even begin to continue fighting. Happy radioed the security team for the event and hurriedly flicked an emergency message to Tony saying there was a situation outside and he needed to meet him at the car immediately.

 

There was a quiet moan from somewhere behind him, followed by a terrified whimper. Happy spun before careening off the man that was currently out-cold on the ground and ran to the waking child, crouching in front of him and carefully steadying his wobbly arms.

 

‘Hey, hey kid – you alright?’ He ignored the rest of the security team as their flashlights bounced around the trees and focused solely on Peter, who’s wide, frightened eyes were dancing around the scene in confusion. ‘C’mon, let’s get you to the car now’ he helped him to his feet and made sure he was okay walking before taking his hand and leading him to the car in silence, refraining from asking questions and assuring him that Dad was on the way until they were out of earshot.

 

When Tony got the text, he was frantic. He haphazardly wrapped up his speech and rushed out of the event, not bothering to say his polite and charming goodbyes. His son was priority. When he saw the car and noticed Happy’s silhouette through the tinted glass he practically dove into the back seat.

 

‘Oh my god, Peter!’ He engulfed his kid in a tight embrace as the car sped off, leaving the rush of reporters behind. ‘Oh baby, what happened to you?’ He stared in shock at the five crescent marks on each of his arms that were covered in a small amount of dried blood and surrounded by purple bruises. He took in how terrified his son looked, the dishevelled state of his clothes and unbrushed, unkempt curls. The back of his jacket looked torn as if it had grated against something.

 

‘Dad!’ Peter fell into his lab and tugged at the cuff of his suit, pulling at his sleeve until he wrapped his arms around the trembling boy. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t – I didn’t say anything, but he said… he was asking and saying stuff and I didn’t know what to say and – and I thought he was nice because he called me cute like Pepper does and then he was scary, and he smelt like smoke and –’

 

‘Hey, hey, no it’s okay – shh, shh. It’s okay Pete, you’re okay, I’m not mad.’ He kissed the top of his head and stifled the boy’s nervous rambling with another hug, letting his little hands loop around the back of his head and slotting into place like they always would. ‘Take some nice deep breaths for me, okay? Try and calm down, you did good, so brave for me like always.’ He waited and coaxed Peter through steadying his breathing, carefully removing his torn jacket so he didn’t overheat in the warming car. ‘Can you tell me what happened buddy, just take it slow, remember I’m not gonna get mad, alright?’ He nodded and shakily began recounting everything that happened after he went outside with Happy.

 

When Peter had finished talking he was in tears again and Tony was shaking from rage. He didn’t understand how even under the fake identity of Peter Parker his kid had still been hurt, he had almost been taken away and used as leverage against him, despite the man not knowing about their blood relation. When the two Starks had gotten home that night they stayed glued together, with Peter falling asleep curled up at Tony’s side and wrapped in a multitude of blankets. Needless to say, the two weren’t apart for a long period after that incident, and the rule was only solidified.

 

\----

 

“So, you aren’t upset that they know you’re my son and – and the occasional Spider activities you partake in?” He smiled weakly, pressing some humour into his voice despite still feeling overwhelmingly protective whenever he thought of that night, even now.

 

“No, it’s uh, it’s probably a good thing. I mean, now I get to meet everyone properly, right?”

 

“Yeah, you do, when you’re ready to though.” He mindlessly ran his fingers through Peter’s hair and tried to just focus on him and how he was home again, he was safe. “If you still aren’t hungry then you should get some more rest, because as much as I appreciate seeing you awake and conscious, you still need to let your healing kick in.” Peter nodded from against his chest.

 

“Can – will you… stay with me please? I just – I don’t wanna be alone.”

 

“I wouldn’t dream about going anywhere else baby, I’m staying right here with you.” Tony wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else, he was content to stay curled up on the bed with his son until he was completely healed. The teen’s face was buried in his neck, arms wrapped around the nape of it, he could feel his chest rising and expanding as he breathed, and he never knew the feeling and sound of the boy’s breaths to be so comforting. He laid there, carding his hand through his hair and running his fingers up and down his back soothingly until he was asleep. It hurt to think that this was probably the first time in about three weeks that Peter had actively chosen to fall asleep rather than passing out from whatever pain he was being forced to endure.

 

At some point during the night Rhodey and Steve came in to see him, checking quietly if they could come inside the room for fear of disturbing the Father or frightening the skittish son. Tony smiled and tucked Peter closer into his torso, angling his head so his chin sat on his shoulder and head lolled against his neck. He made sure he could breathe easily and brushed a stray curl from his face before facing the two.

 

“Hey guys” he said softly, trying not to disturb the noiselessly sleeping kid that he kept cradled against himself.

 

“Hey Tones, how are you holding up?” Rhodey asked, handing him a mug of soup and gesturing for him to have some. “Cap made it a few hours ago for everyone” he added.

 

“Thanks, I’m alright,” he tapped a finger against the cup and bit the inside of his lip as he thought.

 

“How is he? If you don’t mind me asking.” He looked to Steve, then down to the form cocooned in his lap before responding.

 

“He’s – he’s more stable, physically I mean, but…” he trailed off and sighed, absentmindedly scratching Peter’s head. He made a noise of content in his sleep and nudged closer, making Tony hum in adoration. “It’s going to take awhile to fully recover from the injuries, and hopefully his healing will kick in when he starts to gain some weight back, but he’s already done and said some stuff that makes me think that his emotional state is… fragile at best.” Rhodey nodded in understanding.

 

“You know he’s going to have to talk about some of the things that happened to him?”

 

“Yeah – yeah, he already has… but he did say he didn’t want a therapist, just me.” The two men exchanged a worried look. “What? Isn’t that a good thing?”

 

“I’m sure he’s just not ready to trust new people yet, he might reconsider when he’s feeling better,” Steve reasoned, he was the ever-present source of logic and rational thought when all Tony seemed to see was a wave of emotion.

 

“Is it really such a bad thing if he just wants to talk to me about it though?” He couldn’t imagine making Peter talk about what he went through to someone he didn’t know, then they faced the issue of having to explain who he was and his powers.

 

“It’s not a bad thing, it’s probably a good sign that he’s already said he would be willing to talk about it, but I’m more focused on the fact that you hearing about everything that happened might be – might not be so easy to cope with.” He put the cup down and went back to running his spare hand over the ridges in Peter’s spine.

 

“I mean, it will always to hear about, he was hurt, and I didn’t – I wasn’t there for him, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know everything that happened. It’s like when they sent the photo’s and things… it was horrible to see but I needed them to know he was – he was still alive.”

 

“And I get that, but did you – have you read the files yet? Helen attached the pages to the board.” Steve picked up the clipboard as Rhodey spoke.

 

“Wait, before I read them, can you take them off the actual board and just put it away in one of the draws?” He raised an eyebrow in question but did it anyway, “he just – when they operated on him in there… I think they took notes on a clipboard and he must have linked the memory with the pain or something, I had to make him look at me when Cho wrote his medication doses down.” They looked at the boy huddled in Tony’s arms with sympathy and Rhodey hesitated.

 

“Are you sure you want to read this, it’s – it’s really extensive and there are things on here that he didn’t send pictures of…”

 

“I want to, I need to understand and see what things to avoid, just so he isn’t… triggered by anything.” He held the papers in his hand, setting them down on the mattress space next to him for later.

 

“We’ll let you have some time alone, text me if you need anything.” Steve smiled, but something in his eyes seemed sad, but that was understandable given how vulnerable he must have looked buried in the comforter, clutching his son like he was still a baby.

 

“Um… Peter – he said he’d like to meet you all, properly… as himself, not my intern…” he paused, carefully considering what he had wanted to say since he realised how much help everyone had been during the search. “So, I just wanted to say, that if you wanted to… you could stay at the tower while he gets better and – and I’m going to work on getting the accords scrapped.” Rhodey’s lip twitched and he looked like he was supressing a smile. Cap looked taken aback, not expecting Tony to have been so straightforward about the accords after avoiding talking about everything like the plague until only about a week ago, when they sat in the bathroom together after he had broken down.

 

“I think, I’ll ask the others, but honestly Tony I think I’d like to stay here again – especially after everything that you’ve been through the past few weeks.” He looked genuinely pleased at the offer and for the first time in a long while, the two men remembered what it felt like to be part of the Avenger’s family that had crumbled under the ashes of the accords. “I think… it’d be good to try and work on getting the team back together again.” His smile was hopeful, and Tony returned it without delay, although Rhodey gave him a look that said he was about to burst.

 

“Okay, lovely moment and all but I swear if one of you says, ‘Avenger’s Assemble’ in a really nostalgic voice I’ll slap you upside the head, age be damned.” Tony laughed, and Steve looked at him incredulously, “don’t look at me like that, he was definitely talking to you then, old man.”

 

“He’s right, I will not hesitate to kick your cryogenically frozen ass,” Rhodey counted as the two moved to the doorway.

 

“Sure, like you could” Steve muttered with a smile on his face as he pulled the door closed quietly. Tony took a moment to just listen to the sound of Peter’s soft breaths puffing against his neck and take in the sight of how peaceful he looked with the pain meds ebbing the pain away in his sleep. He just stared at his child in front of him and tried not to think about how intensely young he looked laid out in his lap, dark lashes lining his closed eyes and still too-pale lips slightly parted as he slept dreamlessly.

 

He couldn’t watch his son sleep forever, he needed to get this over with, he needed to understand what exactly had happened to Peter, or as much of what the doctors and specialists could guess based on his injuries. He needed to sooner rather than later, because he knew he would need time to just bask in the knowledge that he was home and safe after he read this file. Even as a parent, he could never comprehend how horrible it would feel to see your child in so much pain, but he was sure that even as Peter healed, his need to protect the boy wouldn’t waver in the slightest.

 

“I love you so much kiddo.”


	10. Arc Reactors and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony reads the file, Natasha and Clint search the old facility and Peter struggles to find the courage to talk to his Dad about a particular wound. On top of everything, he's allowed to shower which means he gets to look in the bathroom mirror. Steve extends an offer too exciting to refuse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad I got this out today (I mean technically its past midnight so it's actually tomorrow where I live)!  
> This was awesome to write and I wanna thank everyone who left comments last chapter and all of you who went and checked out the Whumptober Prompt Stories I'm also working on.
> 
> Please keep leaving comments because they make me so happy <3
> 
> Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Picking up the pages and flipping the cover over was one of the hardest things Tony had ever done. The entire first page was writing, in fact the view was predominantly ink, it was organised in order of the suspected times the injuries were sustained, marking back to the day that he was thrown into that van. His eyes flickered over the page so briefly, like he was dipping a toe into a pool of the pain Peter had felt, he didn’t see much, he only got a few words that stuck in his head, but he didn’t like it. He really didn’t like it one bit.

 

Severe.

 

Final Stages.

 

Shattered.

 

Bloody.

 

God, those words should never, in no universe, ever be associated with his kid. His poor, innocent, young child. Peter hadn’t even graduated high school yet, hadn’t gotten his first girlfriend, or boyfriend, or his first car and the milestones he hadn’t reached yet stretched on and on, but it didn’t change the fact that despite him not having experienced any of that yet, he had experienced this.

 

Kidnapping, torture, psychological trauma.

 

How had someone so precious reached PTSD levels of horror before they reached their seventeenth birthday? How was that fair?

 

He took a breath. He steadied himself, or at least attempted to. He looked down at where his son’s cheek was pressed against his chest, fists curled into the fabric of his shirt by his neck and legs splayed over the bed, wrapped around Tony. He loved the clingy kid, but it hurt to know that he was only seeking out extra physical affection now because he had been starved of any gentle, comforting touch for three weeks. Three entire weeks and the only thing he felt was the bite of chains, harsh beatings from guards and agonising surgeries and experiments. He got a world full of nothing but pain for three weeks while Tony was sat in their home and losing himself because he knew it, he knew what Peter was having to endure because he didn’t have any leads.

 

“I’m sorry, I – I have to know baby, I have to understand what happened, so I can help you.” It was almost ironic really, he had seen five words off the page and his cheeks were already wet with tears and he was already holding Peter closer to him. He took another breath and pulled his attention back to the page beneath his eyes. He took it in chunks of information, going slow, trying not to overload himself with the reality of what had been done and how serious it was.

 

Patient Information:  
Name: Peter Benjamin Parker  
Age: 16 Years  
Date of Birth: 10 August 2001  
Abilities/Notable Factors: Superhuman strength, speed, durability, agility, ability to stick to most surfaces, precognitive ‘Spider-Sense’ – Please note that healing ability was not functional at time of treatment  
Alias: ‘Spider-Man’  
Relation to Stark Industries/Reason for access to Med Bay: Employed Stark Intern

 

He paused, pressed a kiss to Peter’s forehead and took a third breath before delving into the actual part of the report which was most difficult to read.

 

List of Injuries and/or Health Conditions by Assumed Date of Occurrence:  
Mild taser burns on sides of abdomen and neck  
Lip split and bitten into  
Bruising on right eye, left cheekbone, ribs, stomach and neck  
Bullet wound – entry through back, lodged next to left shoulder blade and scarring from bullet extraction surgery  
Additional bruising to right side of face, cheekbone and temple  
Eighty cuts and lacerations increasing in depth and severity covering back and hips  
Evidence of drowning and subsequent health complications including the following:  
Water Inhalation – Pulmonary Edema – Hypoxia – Respiratory Failure – Patient was most likely held underwater without air for extended periods of time before unconsciousness occurred *

 

He stared at the Asterix and followed to the next page over where there was another section of writing. He was suddenly very glad that the people he hired were thorough because someone had printed information and research on something called secondary drowning, which Peter had apparently experienced.

 

* ‘Inhaled water leads to a condition given the name ‘secondary drowning,’ which is when water gets into the lungs where it can irritate the lungs’ lining and fluid can build up, causing a condition called Pulmonary Edema. Pulmonary Edema (Symptoms: Extreme shortness of breath or difficulty breathing (dyspnea) that worsens with activity or when lying down, a feeling of suffocating or drowning that worsens when lying down, wheezing or gasping for breath, cold or clammy skin, anxiety, restlessness or a sense of apprehension, a cough that produces frothy sputum that may be tinged with blood, blue-tinged lips, a rapid or irregular heartbeat (palpitations)) causes respiratory failure due to hypoxia  hypoxia is a deficiency in the amount of oxygen reaching the tissues (symptoms: change in skin colour, increased or decreased heart rate, rapid breathing, shortness of breath, sweating, wheezing).’

 

He flipped back to the other page, determined to push through and finish reading the list of injuries.

 

Open bone biopsy on hip, knee and shoulder – Patient not administered anaesthetics and was likely forced to walk immediately after surgery  
Patient appears to have been kept in early stages of hypothermia for extended durations of time  
Patient appears to have undergone some form of sensory attack and deprivation due to increased sensitivity to light and sound  
Severe ankle breakage – likely caused through weight dropped onto limb and continuous disruption and aggravation to the broken bone after breakage  
Severe Asphyxiation – likely caused by strangulation  
Additional bruising to jaw and mouth area causing second split lip  
Severe bruising across entire face  
Three broken ribs, two fractures  
Trauma to eye socket likely caused by multiple blows  
Bloody nose due to assumed assault  
Dislocated shoulder  
Injuries consistent to those of beaten and/or assaulted patients  
Thoracentesis surgery without anaesthetic – needle inserted into pleural space between lung and chest walls, likely to remove excess fluids (pleural effusion) from the pleural space to improve ability to breathe  
Shattered hyoid bone and evidence of poorly-executed bone reconstruction surgery  
Severe Epiglottitis – condition which occurs when tissue protecting windpipe becomes inflamed  
Please note that the patient was administered a fibreoptic intubation procedure without anaesthetics or ventilator to assist breathing  
Extreme fever caused by infections *

 

* ‘Infections in both lungs’ air sacs causing them to swell – Caused Pneumonia  
Respiratory tract infection in upper and lower respiratory tracts  
Pharyngitis – caused by severe swelling in pharynx and larynx  
Severe Sepsis throughout body (condition arises when body’s response to infection causes injury to tissues and organs)  
Multiple opportunistic infections (infections caused by patients weakened immune system and deteriorating physical health)’

 

Evidence of more water inhalation and an increase in the severity of multiple infections  
Evidence that the patient underwent severe and final stages of hypothermia  
All external wounds were re-opened for reasons unknown  
Severe electrical burns on points of contact (both temples, toes, fingers) and contusions/abrasions from suspected metal clamps and plates used to administer high amount of electrical currents  
Severe injures from restraints on ankles, wrists, all joints, chest, collarbone, hips, temples and neck  
Severe electrocution  
Severe hypovolemic shock caused by amount of blood loss  
Major concussion  
Throat inflammation caused by screaming  
Multitude of severe contusions and abrasions  
Evidence of multiple seizures and spasms  
Extreme starvation  
Extreme dehydration  
Extreme sleep deprivation

 

Interesting/Unexplained Features:  
Gasoline residue found on clothing and skin – inhalation of these subsequent fumes caused high risk carbon monoxide poisoning which is the likely cause of the seizures and heart arrhythmias  
Surgery guidelines over skull and spine despite no evidence of any surgical procedures  
Finger-shaped bruises in unusual places such as hips, thighs, lower back and shoulder blades  
Wound on chest had been carved into the patient in order to cause emotional and psychological damage  
Although no anaesthetics were administered to the patient, they suffered from (intentional) Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia * and extreme amounts of Varenicline * which were found in the patient’s system

 

* ‘Opioid-Induced Hyperalgesia is a state of nociceptive sensitization caused by exposure to opioids. The rare condition is characterised by a paradoxical response in which a patient receiving medication (specifically opioids) for the treatment of pain actually becomes more sensitive to certain painful stimuli. In this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) the specific synthesis of drugs he was unwillingly supplied with were used to intentionally increase the amount of pain felt during and following most experiments and attacks.’

 

* ‘Varenicline goes by the brand name ‘Chantix’ and has been highly scrutinised for causing severe neuropsychiatric adverse events including abnormal dreams, nightmares, night terrors, aggression, anxiety, heavy fatigue, insomnia, irritability, somnolence (sleepwalking) and other various sleep disorders.’

 

Tony could feel his silent tears running down his face, but he was dead-set on reading the last paper before he completely broke down. When he turned to the final page he had to put the paper on his lap and cutch Peter with both of his arms to stop himself from cracking. The specialists had used the list of injuries to write up a list off every torture method that had been used. He buried his lips and nose into the loose curls that topped the boy’s head as if to offer as much comfort as possible for Peter while reading through the list.

 

Likely Methods of Torture Based on Sustained Injuries:  
Beatings and physical violence  
Blinding temporarily with light - in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) has enhanced senses therefore has an increased sensitivity to noise and light  
Bone breaking  
Garrotte/Strangling – a Garrotte is a weapon, most often handheld, used to strangle someone  
Crushing – in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) the ankle, rib and neck bones seem to have been crushed  
Cutting  
Dehydration  
Disfigurement – although in this case the wounds are not likely permanent, the sheer amount and range of bruises inflicted are disfiguring to the patient  
Drowning/Dunking – the forceful submersion of the head in water  
Flagellation – (also called flogging, whipping or lashing) is beating the human body with special implements such as whips, lashes, rods, etc.  
Flaying – the process in which large areas of skin are removed from the body  
Hypothermia – (also called cold-cell torture)  
Kneecapping – specifically injuring the knee in order to prevent the victim from escaping or moving on their own  
Medical/Surgical  
Noise/Sound – inflicting extremely high volumes, dynamic ranges, low frequencies and/or high-pitched noises intended to interfere with rest, cognition and concentration, in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) has enhanced senses therefore has an increased sensitivity to noise and light  
Oxygen deprivation – (also called asphyxiation) causes generalised hypoxia and short or long periods of unconsciousness  
Parrilla – victim is strapped to metal frame or bench and subjected to electric shocks  
Pressure Points – pressure point torture is when specific areas of the body which produce intense pain when manipulated in a particular manner are targeted in order to maximise the suffering of the victim  
Reverse Hanging – (also known as Palestinian hanging) a form of torture in which the victim’s hands are tied behind their back and suspended by ropes or chains, resulting in dislocated shoulders  
Restraints  
Sensory deprivation  
Sleep deprivation  
Starvation  
Stress position – placing the human body in a way that forces the weight to be placed on only one or two muscles and forced to hold for extended periods of time, in this patients’ case: (Peter Parker) was made to hold multiple different stress positions over the course of each day or night as indicated by the severity of the muscle damage  
Walling – when the victim’s neck is encircled by a collar or metal band which is then used to slam them against a wall, known as ‘beating by use of collar’

 

Tony choked on a sob and didn’t even try to hide the tears that were beginning to fall into Peter’s hair.

 

“Oh my god, oh my god… baby – my – my baby…”

 

“Ad – Dad?” He tensed as Peter’s groggy voice startled him.

 

“Pete? How come you’re awake buddy?” The boy shrugged and sniffled, shuffling around so he could look up at his Dad from where he was tucked under his chin.

 

“Are you – are you reading my file?” He didn’t even know how Peter knew about the file.

 

“How long have you been up?” He asked worriedly, deliberately skipping over Peter’s question. There was a long pause and for a split-second Tony thought that maybe the teen had gone back to sleep, but he spoke.

 

“Long enough to see how upset you got when you read that…”

 

“Pete…” He didn’t know what to say, he was at a loss. He didn’t know what he could say to make this any better, any easier for his kid. He wanted to make the teen understand how much he loved him, how he was going to help him through this, how he was going to make everyone involved pay for how they hurt him, he would wipe away all his pain if he just knew how. The only thing that came out was a shaky breath and a stutter “I – I… oh god, baby.” He turned the boy over and brought his hand to the back of his head, pressing their foreheads together as he tried to contain his tears. Something inside him uncoiled itself a little when Peter’s hands fisted in the front of his shirt and tugged him closer.

 

“Dad, I don’t – I – this isn’t your fault, you know that, right?” He kept his voice low, comforting and Tony felt horrible about it. He was supposed to be the one looking after Peter right now, rocking him through the nightmares, playing with his hair to keep him asleep, making sure he was okay. It wasn’t supposed to be the other way around, so he pulled himself together as best he could, twisting Peter around so the curve of his back was resting against Tony’s chest and closing the file quietly.

 

“I won’t lie to you, that was – I – I don’t even understand all of that, so we aren’t going to worry about it right n –”

 

“Let’s talk about it then.” Peter cut him off abruptly and he spluttered in confusion.

 

“I – you want to – to talk about the file?” Peter nodded, and his ruffled curls bounced along with his head. “Why? Won’t that be – I don’t – it’s not a good idea buddy…” The boy reached out with his bandaged hand and placed it carefully over where Tony was clutching the closed file.

 

“I think,” he started slowly, “that it would be good, f – for me to talk about it and you to, um, understand what happened, b – because some of the things on there aren’t as bad as they’re made out…” He turned to look at his Dad, hazel eyes flickering in the dim light of the room. “Do you think – can we do that?” Tony searched his face for anything that might indicate he didn’t want to talk about things yet, but it was open, a little sadder than it was before any of this, but still so trusting.

 

“I – yeah… if you’re completely sure and just – if you change your mind you gotta promise you’ll tell me you want to stop?”

 

“Yeah, I promise Dad.” He pressed a kiss to his forehead while Peter moved off his lap, so they could see each other’s faces. He put the papers between them and laid the sheets out on the bed before resting his arm around his child’s small shoulders and letting his head lean against his side. “Um, do you, uh – where do you wanna start?”

 

“Kiddo, I don’t – I don’t understand any of those unexplained features, but I don’t want to – I’m afraid of hashing this stuff too soon, you haven’t even healed yet buddy…” Peter ploughed forward, desperate to push through everything and appease the voices in his head that whispered he was broken.

 

“You say what you don’t know, and I’ll talk about it as best I can, I’m okay Dad, it’s okay now I have you.” He fixed a lopsided and not very convincing smile on his face and reached a hand out to squeeze the one draped over his shoulders. Tony sighed and squeezed back, hoping desperately that he was doing the right thing. He lifted a shaky finger to the third point down, ‘Finger-shaped bruises in unusual places such as hips, thighs, lower back and shoulder blades.’

 

“Baby… did – did they…” he sucked in a choked-off breath and tried to say the words. “D – did they…” Peter caught on quick enough for someone recovering from a major concussion, inhaling his own small breath and shaking his head.

 

“No. No, nothing like… nothing like that – it was just when they finished a surgery on my front and needed to turn me over on the bench to g – get to my back, they used those places as… handholds, I guess. It wasn’t ever like – like that.” Tony ignored how much he calmed after hearing Peter assure him that the worry scratching deep inside him since reading that sentence was unwarranted.

 

“Okay, okay, I – I’m sorry it just sounded… I was worried that… I love you so much, I couldn’t deal if they had – I, yeah…” He played with the fabric of Peter’s Med Bay clothing and knew he was speaking more to himself than the teen.

 

“I know, it wasn’t like that… I love you too Dad.” He leaned up and rubbed his nose and cheek against his Dad’s shoulder, letting his head rest fully against him and tangling his fingers as much as he could through his bandages with the hand holding his. “What else?”

 

“The gasoline?”

 

“I’m not certain, but I think I heard them talking about… testing my resistance to f – fire, but when I had such a bad reaction to the, um, the cold, they disregarded it because they weren’t ready for me to… to die yet.” He stumbled over his words and took an incredible pause before he spoke about actually dying, because the thought of it was still difficult to grapple with.

 

“What was the wound they… carved into your chest and how would it have caused –” he read directly off the page “emotional and psychological damage?” The question dislodged a memory, and while one part of his head screamed for him to answer the direct question before pain, the other part reminisced the same day Ryan had figured out he was Tony Stark’s child. For a moment, Peter’s mind was so filled with the memories of the restrains holding him down, the scalpels and the echoes of his own screams that he found it hard to do anything but fall into his own head.

 

\----

 

He was strapped to the bench, everything hurt, his whole body was aching and searing with the pain, but he couldn’t care because it was out now, he knew. Ryan Knew he was the son of Tony Stark and Peter couldn’t lie because he had worked it out himself.

 

He saw the man approaching him, holding an image and pulling over a bench with various sized blades resting atop its surface. He smirked as Peter’s wild and unfocused eyes darted to the photograph he was holding.

 

‘W – what is that – why do you have that!’ He didn’t understand why Ryan needed that, or how he had an image of it.

 

‘I fancy myself somewhat of an artist, but I still need reference images if this is going to come out perfect for dear old Mister Stark.’ Ryan spat the name, mocking how the teen had pathetically tried to hide it from him, how he refused to call the man ‘Dad.’ Peter whimpered as he realised what was about to be carved into him, and he hated it because he understood exactly why it was happening.

 

‘You – you can’t do this, please, please, please don’t…’ He tugged at the restraints, wishing he was strong enough to snap them and run home to his Dad before… that… was etched into him, possibly leaving a permanent scar.

 

‘You’re just saying that because you know how much this’ll destroy your Daddy to see.’ Ryan leaned in, so his lips were inches away from Peter’s ear, ‘he won’t be able to look you in the face ever again because all he’ll see is a pathetic freak who wasn’t strong enough to escape.’

 

‘N – no, no, no, he won’t…’

 

‘It doesn’t matter anyway, because all he’ll see is this carved into his son’s corpse. He’s never gonna see you breathing again.’ Peter’s lips parted as if to argue, but he couldn’t, because he knew how hard it was going to be for his Dad to look at him the same way with that thing on him. Ryan began to mirror the image by burying the various blades and sinking them into already bruised flesh.

 

He screamed. Peter couldn’t pass out, but he could scream, and he did. He screamed, and he sobbed, and he hiccupped on his tears and he begged. It didn’t stop. The pain, the thing being etched into him wouldn’t stop, and he feared it would never fade away.

 

\----

 

“Peter? Peter, Pete? C’mon baby, c’mon…” He felt hands on his cheeks, they were warm. The fingers cupping his face were so gentle and so warm and his eyes fluttered closed. He took a deep breath in, ignoring the sight of his own bloodied chest that presented a perfect representation of… of what Ryan knew would hurt the most. Coffee, oil from the workshop, calloused hands, the brush of stubble against his forehead as a soft kiss was pressed into his hairline. “Hey, hey, it’s me. You’re here with me Petey, it’s all okay.” He realised after a moment that the small whine was made by him as his body involuntarily leant into the touch, relishing in the feeling of how safe he was right now, with his Dad curled around him. “Yeah, good boy, come on back to me now. You’re safe, you’re okay now, nobody’s going to do anything to you.” He was starting to come back to himself, he couldn’t feel the bench under him, he couldn’t feel the scalpel buried in his chest anymore. He was with his Dad.

 

“M’ sorry, I don’t – I can’t… I don’ wanna talk about that…” Peter’s whisper was barely audible, and he flinched involuntarily, expecting a harsh blow for not answering. Instead, he was met with the feeling of arms enveloped in soft fabric wrapping around him lightly and lifting his small body into a lap before burying a hand in his hair and pulling him closer with the other.

 

“No, baby, no it’s okay, it’s so okay. You did so well, focus on breathing with me, there you go.” His Dad was moving the hand on his back to behind his neck and leaning his head forward, so it rested over his heart. “There you go, listen to my heartbeat, match it to your breaths. Just like that, good job, keep going, it’s all okay.” He focused on the steady rhythm of the beat and he had never felt more loved and more protected than right now. After a few minutes, he had completely calmed, and his monitor beeped in time with his Dad’s chest.

 

“I’m okay, you can keep going now.” Tony’s head shook slightly from above him.

 

“No, it’s okay buddy, we’re good for now.” He swirled his fingers in Peter’s hair and scratched his scalp soothingly.

 

“It’s fine, I wanna keep talking, we can keep going.” Even as he spoke his eyelids felt heavy, but he needed his Dad to understand that it was okay, he wasn’t broken, it wasn’t that bad. The whisper in his head said differently, and so did the nightmares and panic attacks, but they didn’t matter, he was okay, he wasn’t ruined.

 

“I think that’s enough for now, you did so much, I’m so proud of you Peter. You did good kiddo.” He pressed another kiss to the boy’s forehead and gladly ran his fingers through his soft curls until he was limp from sleep, cheek once again resting lazily on his chest, nose hidden away in the crook of his neck at the pulse point and arms wrapped around his neck, grasping at his Dad’s shirt tightly. He sat there for another hour or so, just running his fingers through the soft hair and hoping to keep the nightmares at bay.

 

\----

 

“Hey Nat?” Clint lowered his bow as the scan came back clear. He didn’t even need to raise it in the first place, considering the facility had been abandoned after they raided it and took out all the employees.

 

“What?” Her boots pounded on the tiled floors, and the archer realised she could walk and exude an authoritative ‘tap’ with each step, or she slid around like a shadow without even needing to change shoes.

 

“What did you end up getting from the leader dude?” She paused at a doorway and turned to flash him a sly smirk as she replied and proceeded to nudge open the door with her gun.

 

“Everything.” The pair searched through the building and only really found a few rooms that contained anything useful. The lab, which was clearly where the experiments had occurred and gave the two a fleeting feeling of sorrow for the small family. There was the cell, which they spent the least time in for obvious reasons. Walls and ceilings decked out with tech and sprinklers, chains, collars and braces lined the room and when Clint flicked a switch in curiosity the two both clapped fingers over their ears and slammed their eyes shut. “Turn it off!” Natasha yelled over the various noises emitting from the speakers at horrible volumes and pitches. Clint opened his eyes against the lights only to swipe the switch back off and fix his partner with an apologetic glance.

 

“Uh, yeah that was my bad,” he winced and fiddled with his hearing aids. “Was that as horrible for you as it was for me or is it just the frequencies messing with the tech” he pointed to his ear and quirked an eyebrow.

 

“Firstly, yes, your fault – stop flipping random switches for the fun of it, and secondly, yeah that was absolute hell.” She thought of the teen’s enhanced senses then, wrinkling her nose at the idea of being locked overnight and having to endure that for three weeks straight. From the look on Clint’s face he was thinking of that too, but the two of them left it unsaid, neither of them were willing to start a conversation based on pity whilst weaving around the sensitive subject of both of their pasts. Security room, holding all the files and tapes of every subject the ‘company’ had ever worked with, all of whom endured the same style of treatment as Peter, except of course the rescue. The footage marked Spider was collected and they marked the rest to be sent off for Fury’s database.

 

“You telling Stark that you were the specialist who looked at Peter’s file first?” She walked to the file room and did the same, Spidey’s information was salvaged, and the rest were sent off. Natasha nodded slowly after a period of thought.

 

“I figure it’d be unfair to keep it from him, besides, if he asks questions I can… answer with the kid in mind.” Clint raised his eyebrow again.

 

“How psycho is the guy in charge of all this exactly?” She looked up from the cabinet she was searching through and shrugged nonchalantly.

 

“Broke pretty easy and spilt the beans, but he’s one of the smilers, wouldn’t stop getting this sadistic smirk all over his face when he talked about what exactly he did to the poor kid. He actually seemed pretty proud that he managed to figure out he was Tony’s son, said some poetic stuff about being able to ‘shatter the great Stark’ or something along those lines. Typical things, too self-involved to realise how tough the two are.” Clint nodded and fiddled with one of his arrow tips as he watched Natasha collect the last of the information they needed. “Just the suit and the web things now, they’re probably in the storage room that was mentioned on the intubation video. He internally cringed at the memory of hearing that, and the fact that the boy was only sixteen kept creeping into his head. How long until his kids were that age now?

 

“You think they’re tough, huh?” Nat rolled her eyes and viewed the diagram of the building’s layout once again before leading the way to the storage room.

 

“You read Peter’s file, no denying he’s tough. Remember when you poked fun at Cap for his ‘oh I’m from Brooklyn kid’ line and laughed for two days? Yeah, that was the Spider kid he was talking too, so, double points to him for not dropping the shipping container on himself because he was too busy laughing at Steve.” She smirked at the memory, if she had the time and had known Tony had a Spider-son back then, she probably would have actually voiced her thoughts on no longer being the only spider on the team.

 

“What about Tony?”

 

“He flew a nuke into a hole in the sky and busted his way out of a cave he was held in for three months.” She turned to face Clint and continued to walk backwards with practiced ease. “Face it, everyone on this team is tough in their own way, even you bird-brain, the idiot who won’t stop flicking random switches because they ‘look cool.’”

 

“They do look cool” he muttered under his breath as Natasha turned on her heel and pushed open the door to the storage room in one fluid movement. A drawer marked ‘Subject: Spider’ contained exactly what they were looking for, along with a few more files and a small plastic container with a single, fired bullet resting inside. Old and dried blood stained one side of the bullet and Clint carried what they had found so far back to the car, calling ahead to say they were on their way back and had what was needed. For no good reason, Natasha was glad they had located the boy’s belongings, his suit, mask, web shooter things and bag could all be easily replaced by his Father, but she figured he would be happier to have his things back. Perhaps she could foresee the feeling after recovering the things from a horrible experience made a person feel like they had beaten their tormentor.

 

\----

 

“Hey Tony, come up and get some more food and say hey to Clint and Nat, I’ll watch Peter.” He turned his head and watched the teen’s bandaged chest rise and fall as he slept. Rhodey watched the heart monitor dance normally, proving the healthy rate at which the kid’s heart was beating. “They said they found some of his things, so you should get those from them too.” He bent his eyebrows in concern, “is – is everything good? Did you talk about the file…” Tony shifted and slipped out from under Peter, making sure he was laid carefully and comfortably in the bed before straightening out.

 

“I’m fine, yeah we talked a little bit, but things are still fresh… there’s something I want to know that he didn’t want to talk about, so I think I’ll ask the doctors.” He turned back to Peter and brushed his hair back from his forehead and pressed a kiss there. “Thanks for staying, I’ll go quick, but can you call me if he wakes up or looks in pain or… I don’t know if he does anything really.” Rhodey laughed lightly at the request but nodded regardless.

 

“Tell them I say hi,” he says as Tony quietly shuts the door to the room.

 

Clint was drinking coffee straight from the jug again and Nat was leaning against the counter and watching him with an unreadable expression on her face. She unfolds her legs and walks towards him as he enters the kitchen.

 

“Eat this, Cap made it.” She pushes a plate of some sort of sweet pie into his hand and he assumes it’s apple.

 

“I helped make it” Clint calls before tipping back more coffee.

 

“You helped eat the raw batter” Natasha calls back with a fond eye roll, if there was such a thing.

 

“Thanks, Rhodey said you found some things when you went back there?” She nods and points to the counter where Peter’s bag lies. “Did the suit I sent before you do the heat signature and layout okay?” She nods again and smiles in thanks, appreciating the man’s help despite the very trained pair not necessarily needing it.

 

“How much time do you have?” She asks evenly, watching Tony reach a hand out for the bag and brush the strap before putting down his half-eaten pie in favour of picking it up gently.

 

“If you come down to the room with me we can talk until he wakes up again.” She nods and warns Clint to re-fill the machine when he’s finished. “Rhodey says hi to both of you” he says before they’re in the elevator. “What’s up?” He asks, curious but slightly worried that they found something bad at the building.

 

“Did you read the file?” She doesn’t make eye contact and Tony’s glad, it something about her that he’s always been thankful for. Eye contact was another one of his OCD tendencies, but it had more to do with avoiding personal involvement where he could. The only times he really made a specific effort to make eye contact were during important meetings when Pepper was breathing down his neck, in arguments and with Peter. Peter was an exception to pretty much all of his avoidance of intimacy with other people, and it would always be that way.

 

“I read the file” he replies, not bothering to mask the hardness in his tone when he thinks of all the things that he didn’t know had happened to his son that were very well laid out on those pieces of paper.

 

“I figured you’d want to know that I’m the specialist who used the injuries to compile the list on the last pages.” She carefully avoided saying the words ‘Likely Methods of Torture Based on Sustained Injuries’ because she knew exactly what was on that file, obviously, and that kid had been through a lot.

 

“Thank fuck, did you – do you know what the, uh, thing that was on his chest was?” She didn’t except that reaction from him, but like always her face stayed a mask of calm and knowing.

 

“Yes.” He looked at her then, waiting for an explanation. “I don’t think it’s really my place to tell you, you should talk to Peter, he might not want to ye –”

 

“I did, he had an anxiety attack and I’m not talking to him about it, but he was mumbling about… things and he thinks, shit…” He rubbed his face with his hand and bit the side of his cheek. “He was mumbling stuff about me never looking at him the same? I don’t – it – I’d never do that, I can’t explain to him that I won’t, but I need to – it’s… I need to know.” She turned to face him and fixed a very serious look at him, forcing the eye contact.

 

“What was carved into him wasn’t done to hurt him, it was to hurt you, that’s why he doesn’t want to talk about it and that’s why he thinks you’ll be upset.” She softened her facial expression and said plainly, “he’s trying to protect you, and I can see why Tony.” He stared right back, a frown on his face as he thought.

 

“I need to know, Nat, please. It’s not healthy for him to do that, he cannot bottle stuff up like me it’s too… he just can’t.” She looked at him a moment longer before turning and fixing her gaze ahead again.

 

“You think this is his own Afghanistan, if he bottles it up and keeps things from you.” His face pinched at the memory, but he nodded. “That’s going to make telling you hurt more, that comparison.”

 

“Please just tell me, I don’t think it could hurt anymore than the rest of the shit I had to watch.” She stayed silent, “I listened to people shove a fucking tube down his throat and heard him saying goodbye because he genuinely believed he was never going to see me again.” The elevator opened and neither of them moved, F.R.I.D.A.Y closed the doors and kept them on the same floor. “Please.” She pressed a button and the doors opened, she ushered him to get out before answering.

 

“Go see your son.” She paused and for a moment Tony didn’t think she was going to say anything more, but of course she caught him off guard. “They carved an Arc Reactor into his chest, replica of your mark one, in the same place. I’m sorry.” She spoke all in one tone, to someone who didn’t know her the apology would have sounded clipped and fake, sarcastic even, but he did know her, and she meant it. The doors closed, and he walked down the hall and into Peter’s room.

 

“Tones, you alright?” He mouthed a ‘yeah,’ but his voice cracked, and it didn’t make a noise but Rhodey understood. “Okay, call if you need, I’ll leave you to it.” He left the room and Tony crawled into the bed, lifting Peter into his lap softly and resuming his hands to their positions, one fluffing through his hair and the other wrapping around him as gently as possible. After a moment he needed more, so the hand wrapped around him slid to his neck and Tony placed two fingers over Peter’s pulse.

 

He thought of Afghanistan.

 

The fire, the bombs, the dust underneath him and the noise of something metal and heavy landing right beside him with his name plastered over it.

 

The cloth beneath him, the blood, his own screams, the hands of people he didn’t know and the blare of lights he couldn’t focus on. The tapping of metal instruments, something metal and bulky being pressed into him, the pain that covered his chest and flared across every inch of him before something scratchy was pressed over his mouth and everything faded.

 

The hard bed he laid on, the sight of his breath in the chilled air, the musty and metallic smell of the room, the plastic irritating his nose, his shaking, numb fingers and heavier chest.

 

The water, the hands ripping and shoving his head under, the yelling, the threats, the lack of air in his lungs, the gasping breaths he takes and the feeling of water cascading from his nose, down his face, dripping from his hair.

 

The fucking car battery attached to him.

 

Everything he went through and Peter was following in his footsteps. From the surgery, the tube, the cold, the drowning, even down to the fucking burlap sack they covered his head with as he was forced forward on shaky legs.

 

‘I just wanted to be like you…’

 

Peter, his son, his child, his world. He couldn’t protect him, he went through something so horrible in Afghanistan and yet he couldn’t stop the exact same thing from happening to the person he loved. Peter had gone through more. He spent three months and Peter spent three weeks, but he had it so much worse. Peter endured so much more and yet he still looked up at him with his soft, hazel eyes and stared with a gaze filled with such love, such trust, such innocence.

 

‘I wanted you to be better…’

 

He got one surgery and was awake for part of it, Peter got daily surgeries and was awake for all of them. He got a cold cave and was given gloves and a jacket, Peter got a freezing cell that sent him into hypothermia while he was shirtless and chained. He got to wake up with a tube already, which he pulled out slowly, himself, Peter was awake when a large, black tube was shoved down his throat brutally by faceless doctors and ripped back out, coated in his blood, by guards. He got one session of drowning where he was pulled up for air long before he passed out, Peter got two sessions and was held under until he was unconscious before being woken with a cattle prod. He got to fight his own way out of a strange place and get revenge on who took him, Peter got to wait for someone who promised to save him in a place teasingly close to home and was hanging onto life when he was finally rescued.

 

He didn’t know how long he sat with Peter, thinking about things. It could have been hours, he didn’t know. He thought about the rescue and tried to remember what Peter’s chest had looked like, it was smeared with old, dried and fresh blood which must have covered the wound. Tony was slightly glad he hadn’t been able to see what was carved into his son when he saw him for the first time in three weeks. Not because he didn’t care, but because he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from flying back to where Natasha was dealing with Ryan and snapping the man’s neck.

 

Peter shifted in his lap and made a small sound in his sleep that sounded like he was beginning to wake. Tony twirled the curls around his fingers more and the boy nuzzled closer to the soft touch, mewling and twisting his fingers so they gripped his Dad’s shirt. God, Tony loved those curls so much and he wished the kid appreciated them for what they were instead of pressing them down and straightening them out each morning before school. By the time he got home the edges had furled and the general shape of his hair was a curved wave anyway, so it didn’t matter much. Anytime he took his mask off, got wet or sweaty, too hot or it grew out the strands would flourish back to its natural state. When he was younger and played outside in the rain he would come back inside, dripping water, flushed cheeks from the excitement and waves of dark hair. Peter mumbled something unintelligible and tucked himself closer to his Dad, a few more minutes went by and then his eyes were fluttering open.

 

“Hey buddy” Tony murmured softly, moving his fingers from the pulse point to cup the teen’s cheek gently. Peter’s eyes flickered up to meet his and at first there was a tinge of confusion and fear as he woke not knowing where he was, but then when his gaze set of his Dad and he felt the warm embrace he was in, the timidity melted from his face. Pure trust and love remained on his face when his twinkling, hazel eyes stared back.

 

“Mm… hi Dad” he whispered lightly, furrowing himself closer into his Father’s chest.

 

“How about we get some food into you and then have a talk, that sound alright?” Honestly, Peter still didn’t have much of an appetite, but he knew he needed to eat if he wanted his accelerated healing to kick in properly again. He nodded meagrely and tucked his head down as Tony reached over and pressed the call button. “How’d you sleep?” Peter shrugged and rested his forehead down on the mechanic’s collarbone. “Not feeling very talkative?” He asked as he ran his fingers over the boy’s scalp and played with his hair.

 

“M’ just glad you’re here,” Peter mumbled quietly.

 

“Me too baby, me too.” Helen came in, once again without her usual white coat and nametag, Tony was glad she had picked up on how uneasy that made Peter feel.

 

“Morning Peter, I’m just checking your vitals and giving you a smaller dosage of the meds, are you feeling much pain since you’ve woken up?” He shuffled and then winced, making his Dad’s face pinch sympathetically with worry.

 

“Uhm, y – yeah, a bit.” Helen nodded and injected a small amount of something into his I.V carefully before jotting something down on the papers at the end of his bed. Peter’s fingers tightened, and his body tensed when he heard the all too familiar sound of something being scribbled down. He didn’t relax until Cho had left the room with the promise of food and then he was shoving his face deeper into the crook of Tony’s neck and stammering wistful apologies into the pulse point.

 

“Hey, no, sweetie it’s okay, there isn’t anything to be sorry for. You’re alright, you did good.” He looked up from where he had pressed his lips into the boy’s hair to see one of the other doctors placing a tray of food onto the small table next to the bed. He nodded a thanks and was glad when the man left without another word. “Let’s get some food into you, huh?” He delicately moved Peter from his lap and reached out for the tray, pulling it up to the bed and setting it between the two of them. “Breakfast in bed, pretty spoilt, aren’t you?” He crooned with a smirk on his face, which quickly broke into an affectionate smile as Peter rolled his eyes in reply.

 

“I’m not sure if I can… eat all that. I mean it – it’s a lot of food.” Tony eyed the tray, it had a bowl of salad, a plain bread roll with a small tub of butter, an apple, a plastic cup with water and another with orange juice, a plate of beans, potatoes and three small sandwiches. The quantities were mediocre, but he knew that with his enhanced metabolism Peter would normally scarf down the equivalent of three meals in one. The teen must have picked up on his Dad’s concerned face because he reached out and held on to the cuff of his sleeve, so their fingers brushed together. “It’s just… a lot more than I’m used to.” He looked up apologetically and Tony was quick to wipe the worried expression from his face.

 

“That’s okay buddy, just eat as much as you can and we’ll work up from there next time,” he smiled and wrapped an arm around Peter’s less injured side and pulled him closer as he began to tentatively pick at the potatoes and beans. There was a knock at the door and through the glass the two could tell it was just Rhodey. Tony looked down for permission to let him in and when he received a light smile and nod he gladly motioned for him to come in.

 

“Hey Tones, hi Pete, how you feeling?” He sat in the chair to the side of the bed but didn’t shuffle it forward any closer.

 

“M’ a lot better, thanks… uh, th – thank you for coming and getting me…” He looked down at his plate and pushed some of the unfinished beans around with his plastic fork. Tony pressed his lips together sadly, wanting his kid to know that he didn’t have to thank everyone.

 

“Any time kiddo,” Rhodey said casually, easily skipping over the fact that Peter didn’t need to thank him in order to pull the conversation away from his rescue. “I got some good news, once you’ve eaten the doc – uh, Helen said your vitals were looking really good and when she changed the bandages everything was on track. She said that after you’ve been slowly taken off the meds and IV you can look at having a proper shower and even a small walk around the compound, if you were up to it.” The mechanic grinned happily and looked to Peter for his reaction. He had a small smile on his face and was staring up at him with large, doe eyes.

 

“When you get your portion sizes back to normal the super-healing you’ve got going on will probably speed the whole process up.” His heart jumped excitedly at seeing the twinkle in his son’s eyes once again.

 

“Does that mean I can get discharged from the Med Bay?” The warmth and excitement in his soft voice relaxed Tony slightly, but he still glanced down at the bandages that swaddled majority of the teen’s small form and sighed quietly.

 

“That’ll be a little bit further down the track, not too far away though. We’ll focus on the eating and sleeping then I’ll be more inclined to let you run rampant again.” He leaned over and pressed a quick kiss to the boy’s forehead, gesturing for him to eat some of the sandwiches and water. He furrowed his brow when Peter only managed to finish half of one but collected himself when he actually drank all the water. He turned to Rhodey thankfully and asked quickly, “how long did she say it’ll take to wean him off the pain meds and IV?”

 

“I think a day or two, but he’ll still have to take some pills for about a week or until the healing kicks in.” Tony nodded thoughtfully and shot him an appreciative smile as he slipped out of the room again. He turned when he felt a light tug at his sleeve.

 

“What’s up baby?” He wiggled closer into Peter’s side and began to play with his hair again.

 

“M’ feeling full already…” his voice wavered, and he spoke faintly with an apologetic look on his face. He had finished the water and taken at most half of one sandwich, a few forkfuls of potatoes and beans while the rest of the plate was untouched.

 

“Have a bit of the roll and a little bit of juice and you can nibble at the rest later once it’s settled, that sound okay?” He hooked a finger further inside his Dad’s sleeve but took a small sip of the orange juice in reply. “Good boy, are the pain meds kicking in yet?” He affectionately stroked at the unruly mop of curls and hummed softly.

 

“Yeah, not as much pain anymore.” He broke off a chunk of the roll and chewed at it for a while, leaning against Tony’s side tiredly as he did so. “Thanks for understanding Dad,” he swallowed and reached an arm around his neck and pushed his cheek into his chest, “M’ finished.”

 

“Okay, good job baby” he put the tray aside, on the table and out of the way. “Can we talk if you’re up to it?” He felt a tentative nod from below him and ruffled the kid’s hair before sitting him up carefully. “I need you to know something buddy,” he reached his arms out and rested them on Peter’s shoulders. “You gotta know that this here,” he pointed at the thick gauze wrapped around the boy’s chest, “this doesn’t change anything.”

 

“Hm?” He quirked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “What do you mean?” Tony took a breath and ploughed forward, hoping he didn’t trigger any bad memories from either of the two’s plagued pasts.

 

“I mean, I talked to the specialist who did your report, turns out it was Nat –”

 

“Like… Black Widow Nat – Natasha? With the cool taser disks?” He huffed a laugh and shook his head in disbelief of how adorable Peter was. Even in the face of trauma he was more concerned with his awe for the team and their various weapons and suit advancements.

 

“Yeah, the ones I based your taser webs on.” His face brightened, and he reached up to grab hold of the hands that still rested on his shoulders.

 

“That’s – Dad, that’s so awesome,” for a moment his smile was pure, but then it fell slightly, and he dropped his hands to his lap and bowed his head to fiddle with them. “Does – does that mean she told you about…” He trailed off and flicked his eyes down to his chest as the rest of his smile faded away sadly.

 

“That’s what I want you to know about,” Tony was quick to move a hand from Peter’s shoulder to cup his chin and cheek comfortingly, pulling his gaze back up. “You have to understand that, baby, this doesn’t change anything in the slightest, okay? I still love you and I still think you’re amazing and the bravest kid out there. Peter, you were so brave for me, I understand why…” He tried to think of a way to avoid Ryan’s name. “I understand why they did that and you obviously do too because you’re trying to protect me from it.” The shoulder under his hand shrugged in response and the sadness in his gaze flickered temporarily. “See what I mean about the self-sacrificing? You’re in the Med Bay on pain meds and yet you still devote yourself to protecting me. You are selfless, and I can’t emphasize that enough, I love you so much Petey.” He pulled the child into a tight embrace and leant the side of his head near his lips, so he could keep talking through the hug. “I don’t care it’s an arc reactor, and I won’t care if it scars. All I care about is you and how amazing you are, okay?”

 

“O – okay… m’ sorry still. I – I tried to get away but the restraints and I just – I just couldn’t tell you because… it was supposed to make you upset and it’s just like Afghanistan and I can’t – I couldn’t tell you, I was afraid that you’d… I was scared you wouldn’t be able to look at me without thinking about what happened with the bomb and your reactor… I just – I’m just sorry.” He sniffled and hiccupped on his words. Nonetheless he pulled closer to his Dad and sobbed quietly into his shoulder, dampening his shit and continuing to apologise profusely as Tony murmured praises into his hair and told him that it was all okay, he was okay, he was home.

 

The two stayed curled up in the Med Bay bed for the next two days. They spent most of the time with Peter sleeping, his face pressed in Tony’s neck while he talked quietly with doctors or Rhodey, and once or twice Steve, drinking coffee. The rest of the time was spent with Peter eating as much food as he could and getting his bandages changed, the amount of cloth needed gradually decreased as his healing slowly helped the smallest wounds begin to fade enough to not require bandaging.

 

Nat spent majority of the time away from the compound, where the guards, doctors and Ryan were being held. Rhodey worked on the legality of everything and so did Pepper, but she was hidden away behind the scenes. Sam and Clint kept themselves busy, mostly training and fiddling around in one of the labs Tony gave them temporary access to. Steve cooked for everyone and drew a lot more, checking in on Tony and Peter more frequently than he would have thought. He expected to feel more awkward around the mechanic, especially when his time was fully occupied with a sleeping teen, but they had actually found a good system of comfortable silence. Steve only visited the room when he knew Peter was asleep because Tony had made it known to everyone that the kid wanted to meet them as Peter Stark, when he was up and moving on his own. They respected that, of course, but that didn’t mean anyone’s curiosity about the boy lessened, they just wondered from afar until they could properly meet him.

 

Once again, Tony was hugging Peter close to his chest and carding his fingers through his hair while his other hand rested on the boy’s pulse. Both of their eyes were open, but while Tony’s gaze was just filled with caffeine supressed tiredness, Peter’s were still clouded with slowly fading bruises that covered his skin and hid the dark circles. They picked their heads up when Helen entered the room.

 

“Hello, I thought it would be nice to let you know that your wounds have improved enough for you to leave the room, walk around a bit and shower normally.” Tony smiled proudly down at his son and whispered something about ‘washing that wild bedhead you got going on’ with humour heavy I his tone. After Cho had left he helped Peter up from the bed and waited a moment to make sure he was steady on his feet.

 

“You want to have a shower now, or later?”

 

“Now,” he answered firmly, taking a wobbly step toward the door before his Dad placed a steadying hand on his back and shoulder, letting him grip his arm while he guided the teen to the bathroom.

 

“I’m gonna come in and make sure you’re okay but I need to get you some normal clothes first, any preference?” He gently sat him down on the toilet with the seat down, so he could wait comfortably.

 

“Uh, long sleeves or just anything warm, its – its just kinda cold.” He played with the hem of his sleeve and rubbed at his nose, which was a shade of pink from the cold.

 

“I’ll turn the temperature up then,” he assured, rubbing a hand up and down the boy’s arms in hopes of warming him up.

 

“No, its not that its too cold, it – its just… I’m cold, I think cus of the, uh, lack of temperature regulation, you know the whole spidey deal.” Tony smiled and kissed his forehead gently, running a thumb across his cheek and promising to be back shortly. “Thanks Dad.”

 

Of course, being a Stark, the curiosity and boredom got the better of him before a minute had even passed. He looked around the room and realised he had only used this particular bathroom once before, after he had been dragged to the Med Bay with a poorly healed broken ankle that still nursed a bullet wound. When he couldn’t hear his Dad’s footsteps any longer he stood from the toilet and walked shakily to the vanity on the opposite wall. Taken aback by the reflection in the mirror he was met with, Peter stumbled slightly but managed to catch himself by gripping the corners of the sink.

 

He stared back at himself, his eyes raked over his head, face and neck while he hurriedly peeled off the Med Bay shirt he wore. His gaze flickered down further to his chest, torso, arms and shoulders before the length of the mirror cut him off. Since the morning he was taken Peter hadn’t seen himself in the mirror, the most he had seen of himself was when he was strapped to the table and caught glances of his blurred face in the steadily growing pools of his own blood that rested on the metal surface. He wasn’t an overly vain person, he only looked in mirrors when he needed to brush his teeth or do his hair and various other things along the same lines, but on good days he could appreciate that he wasn’t hideous. Staring at his reflection now, it was hard to do.

 

His face was sunken in, cheekbones and jawline angled too much and unhealthily defined ribs and collarbone. The parts of his skin which weren’t mottled with harsh bruising shone a pale white that he had only seen when he had been carsick as a child. His lips were split in two places and a small amount of dried blood was visible through the cracked skin. Where the bandages weren’t covering the worst of the wounds, he could see the shallowest of the cuts and lacerations that decorated most of the entirety of his torso and, assumingly, his back too. When he lifted his hand to brush away a lock of hair he was disappointingly surprised to see the sharp, deep bruise that encircled his small wrist, and lifting his other hand up he was upset to see the same wound marking the flesh. He lifted his chin and choked on a silent sob when he saw his neck, which was adorned with an even thicker and pronounced contusion. The wound was so dark it was practically black and lining it were a large number of small gashes that he guessed were from all of the collars and neck restrains that had been secured there.

 

Peter desperately tried to look on the positive of things, like the fact that his previously broken nose wasn’t bent at an odd or noticeable angle, but the thought that this is how he looked after days of treatment and rest made him think how horrible he had looked when his Dad found him. Tears slipped from his eyes and slid down his cheeks, he tried not to think about how familiar that sensation was to him now. Tearing himself away from the mirror wasn’t an option when his gaze was so transfixed on the sheer severity and amount of all the wounds that tarnished him, he hated how it looked and he knew why it upset him so much. Because he understood how his small, skinny, bruised, beaten form looked, and it looked broken. He was so focused on his broken reflection that he didn’t see or hear over the sound of his sniffing and sobbing, as Tony stepped back into the room.

 

He rested the pile of clothes he had on the floor and turned to see Peter, looking at himself in the mirror and crying quietly, teardrops running down his face and falling into the sink.

 

“Oh baby…” he said soft-heartedly and moved to stand beside his child at the sink. “Petey, hey, what’s wrong baby?” The boy turned and looked up at him with mounds of sorrow and torment glittering in his watery eyes.

 

“I – I – I look like… that…” he sniffled and tripped over his words before he was pulled into a tight hug, his face pushed into his Dad’s chest and turned away from the mirror. “I – I didn’t know th – that’s what I looked like… he – he – they made me look like that.” He was fully crying now, whimpering and heaving on unsteady breaths, his fingers twisting desperately at the fabric of Tony’s shirt. A hand ran up his back and neck, tangling in his hair and rubbing small circles while he was hushed softly.

 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, you’re okay. You look so much healthier already baby –”

 

“N – no! That’s exactly it…” He pulled back from the embrace slightly, enough to tilt his head back and look into his Dad’s eyes as he spoke. “Th – that’s what’s so h – horrible. If I look this grotesque now, wh – what… h – how bad did I look when you f – found me?”

 

“Pete, kiddo, you are not grotesque and–”

 

“No Dad, I – I wanna know… I n – need to know.” Peter demanded, making Tony sigh and step away to sit with his back against the wall, rubbing his face with his hands firmly. His glistening eyes seemed to beg for an answer and his chest still rose and fell rapidly with uneven, choked-off breaths.

 

“Shit, I – Jesus Pete, your – you looked fucking dead.” The boy clutched his bare torso and gripped the sides of his arms as if to comfort himself. “God, you were so – you were so pale and skinny and – and absolutely covered in blood… I –” he cut himself off and bit his trembling lip, reaching up with a shaky hand to wipe away a tear of his own. “I – I thought I was too late…” he whispered the words so quietly that they were almost inaudible. Peter sniffled loudly in the silence of the room that followed the sombre confession. Tony stood abruptly, crossing the space and enveloping Peter in such an intense embrace that they both had to sink to the floor. The boy’s knees wobbled as he lowered, and his fingers scrabbled at his Dad’s shirt, franticly locking around his neck so he could easily shove his face into his neck and muffle his cries. “Baby I thought I lost you, th – then you were in my arms but you started to cough and there was more b – blood coming up and you could’ve been internally bleeding and everything was so touch and go I – I didn’t know if you were gonna make it… fuck, I was – I was so terrified of loosing you.” He leant them both back until his back rested against the opposite wall and he could cradle Peter in his lap like in the Med Bay bed. “I didn’t leave your side for so long and after the surgery they still weren’t completely sure if you had brain damage… I – I couldn’t – I was scared shitless baby.” He stopped rambling, instead littering Peter’s head with kisses and pushing their foreheads together with closed eyes.

 

“Dad… Dad I couldn’t – I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t stay awake a – and everything h – hurt so, so much. I just wanted you, but I couldn’t scream because h – he put a gag in my mouth and I tried so hard not to pass out but… I just c – couldn’t and I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Tony tensed at the mention of the gag and he instinctively pulled Peter closer and curled around his small figure protectively. The sight of the bloody and tear-soaked piece of cloth on the ground next to Steve’s feet helped him remember how furious he had been when he saw the man leering above his child on the metal table.

 

“No, no, no don’t apologise, you did so well Petey, you were so brave for me. I’m sorry, I – I should’ve gone straight to you, but I didn’t, I flew right past because I lost my temper. I didn’t hear you calling and I messed up, you were all alone and I shouldn’t have left you there while I took my anger out on – on him.” He slowly started rocking and soon enough he felt the small hands around his neck pulling him closer. “I love you baby, I love you so, so much you don’t understand.” Peter sniffled the last of his tears away and drooped his neck, so his head fully rested on the junction of his Dad’s shoulder.

 

“I love you too” he replied, his voice cracking from the tears. They stayed on the bathroom floor for a few more minutes until Peter heard footsteps approaching and he stiffened up.

 

“Tony? Peter? Everything okay, Rhodey said you were probably coming out soon?” His ears had healed enough that his hearing was almost back to normal, so he could tell when Steve pushed open the door to the Med Bay and he heard when he began to move further down the hall.

 

“Just Steve, you can relax kiddo,” he felt his Dad rubbing circles over his shoulder blades and he sunk into the touch, sighing contentedly.

 

“Tony?” Steve stood in the doorway and when he saw the two cuddled up on the floor of the bathroom his mind reeled for a brief moment, worrying one of them had slipped and hurt themselves. Once he worked out they were both fine, if not a little shaken up, he stepped hesitantly into the room and crouched down to eyes level, keeping his distance from Peter for fear of putting him on edge. “You guys alright in here?” The mechanic nodded and turned so both himself and the teen he held in his arms were facing him. “I just got worried because nobody had heard from you in a while and Rhodey mentioned you were given the all clear to walk around and get cleaned up a bit.”

 

“We’re good Cap, thanks for checking up on us though.” He shot the worried soldier a grateful smile and Peter lifted his face from his Dad’s chest before his lips curled into a very timid smile.

 

“I’ll leave you to it then,” he moved to the doorway again and rested a hand on the handle, pausing briefly. “When you’ve showered you can always come up to the kitchen and meet the team, I’m making lunch for everyone.” He looked at Peter with a face that implied he didn’t expect an answer, it was merely a suggestion, and even that slight thoughtfulness to avoid direct questions made Tony make a mental note to thank the man later.

 

“Th – thanks, I think I’ll do that,” Peter said after a moment’s consideration. When Steve moved to close the door and leave the room the teen gave a shy wave goodbye. The small wave absolutely melted Tony’s heart at how precious the kid was and judging by the look on the Captain’s face he felt the same way. He returned the gesture and said a brief goodbye to the two Stark’s before pulling the door shut. Peter turned back to his Dad before he could speak, “so, are you two… good now?”

 

“Uh, y – yeah we’re on the track to getting the team back and they’ve decided to stay at the Tower for a little bit…” Peter nodded and then scrunched his nose in thought, prompting Tony to peck a quick kiss to his forehead.

 

“What about the Accords? Are we just gonna… hide them here for now?”

 

“Ah Pete, always the logical thinker, aren’t you? No, I’ve actually decided to scrap the Accords so once you’re feeling better I’m going to talk to Ross and the United Nations panel to get them disregarded.”

 

“That’s good,” he said tiredly, sinking further into the hug and nuzzling his forehead and nose closer.

 

“Let’s get these bandages off you now so you can shower and get into warmer clothes, that sound alright?” He felt the small nod against his chest and let his lips curl into a smile as he lifted Peter up and helped him to his feet. “I’m gonna walk you over to the sink and sit you up on the counter so I can start to take off the bandages.” He guided the teen and scooped up his still too-light form, positioning him comfortably next to the basin and brushing his knuckles gently along his cheek. “Not feeling too lightheaded or dizzy?” He asked as he pulled the bin closer.

 

“No, just… glad you’re here” he perked his head up and smiled widely at his Dad. “Also, uh, that was – that was Captain America and he totally just invited me to lunch with the Avengers… so that’s pretty cool too.” He shrugged and fixed a lopsided grin on his face, downplaying how exited he probably was at the prospect. “Um… you – you’ll come up too right? A – and have lunch with us?”

 

“Yeah, of course kiddo. I’m staying next to you for the foreseeable future, so you better get used to me really quick.” He returned the smile and leaned in to give the boy another kiss on the forehead, but Peter lifted his arms and looped them around his neck, pulling him in close,

 

“M’ glad, I don’t wanna be alone for a while,” he mumbled from where his lips were resting against his Dad’s collarbone. He dropped his hold and leant down to start unrolling the gauze from his legs, but Tony caught his hand.

 

“Hey, I’ll do that, it’s okay. You need to relax a bit buddy.” He stroked a hand idly through the teen’s curls and let him melt into the loving touch before loosely beginning to unfurl the gauze from his ankles. “Just let me know if it hurts at all,” he received a happy hum in response and ran a thumb over his less injured knee while continuing to collect the old bandages. He threw them in the bin to the side of the sink and wondered if he should comment on how the bruises and cuts from where he had been restrained were beginning to clear up. After finishing the second ankle he decided against it, the bruising was still relatively deep, and he didn’t want Peter worrying about how much darker they had looked when he was found. “Just gonna do the knee and hip now.” After noticing how often the boy cowered away from movement, he made extra sure Peter was aware of all the movements he was making before anything else, trying to save him some fright. Seeing how jumpy and tense he always was worried him, but he tried to assure himself the constant flinches and wide eyes would only fade away with time.

 

When he got the nod of approval he moved up and began to very carefully unwrap his knee, going slower the closer to the skin he got, wary of the way his bone had previously been exposed. When the cloth finally pulled away he was glad to see that the bone wasn’t visible, just slightly raw, pink skin that had healed over. Regardless, it still looked painful and the skin surrounding it was tinged with other bruising. “It – it’s looking a lot better Pete; the food must be helping. You’ve been really good with eating more each day, I’m proud.” He reached out for the small hand and gripped it firm enough not to hurt but ran the pad of his thumb over the back of his wrist and smiled.

 

“Thanks Dad, for staying with me and – and having good hospital food, not the crappy stuff.” He smiled back humorously and squeezed his Dad’s hand as he blew out a breathy chuckle and ruffled the teen’s hair.

 

“Yeah, yeah, real funny kiddo. Can you stretch your legs out, so I can reach your hip?” Peter answered by extending his legs slightly and Tony was quick to oblige and start pulling the gauze away with caution. The hip was still deep, but the same new skin was layered overtop the old wound and he was confident it wasn’t going to start bleeding again unless it was torn open, which he wouldn’t let happen. “I’ll do your shoulder and leave the chest for last, just remember it won’t change anything about how I see you… you’re still the bravest kid I know,” he promised and stood fully to reach the shoulder bandaging, letting Peter lean against his chest while he did so.

 

“I know, I just – I don’t want to give… him, the satisfaction of – of… bringing your memories back.” He pulled back from where he had leant his forehead on Tony’s chest and looked at him with sadness clouding his gaze. “It’s stupid and I hate that he… put that on my chest, I just – it just makes the whole thing worse because it wasn’t just to hurt me, he did it to hurt you. I feel like I got you involved in it and I just feel like shit about everything… m’ sorry.”

 

Tony paused from where he was throwing the shoulder bandages into the bin and arched his back to lean down at eye level with Peter. He tilted the boy’s chin up with a guiding finger then moved to cup both of his cheeks softly and peer right back into his shining eyes.

 

“Baby, you don’t have anything to be sorry for, he didn’t pull me into this with that,” he gestured to Peter’s chest. “He pulled me into this as soon as he laid a finger on you, okay? You mean everything to me and I would do anything to protect you from things like this.” He laid a steady but light hand on the edge of the gauze wrapped around Peter’s chest and slowly began to detach it. “Whatever this looks like, however bad it is, whether it scars or not, it doesn’t change anything, and I’ll never stop loving you.” He continued to murmur reassuring promises into the boy’s hair and stilled just before the last of the cloth fell away. “I love you baby, this won’t change how I see you, I swear.” He looked into Peter’s eyes and he returned the look, reaching a hand up and pulling away the remainder of the gauze himself, letting it fall away from his chest but keeping his gaze locked ahead.

 

“If it… if it reminds you of Afghanistan too much then p – please just look away and I’ll cover it…” Tony shifted and looked down, keeping one hand on Peter’s cheek for reassurance as he looked at the wound. Even if he hadn’t known what it was supposed to be before, it was quite obviously a mirror drawing of his first reactor, mark one, the same one he built in the cave to replace the car battery they attached to him. The skin resembled the wounds on Peter’s knee, hip and shoulder, they were fresh, raw and tinged pink as if the skin had only just grown in. Some of the lesser lines that had been carved were already starting to turn silver and white, only slightly raised from the rest of his flesh. When the wound was new, it must have been agonisingly deep and carved with multiple tools because the gashes were all different sizes. Fuck, someone dedicated considerable time and effort into making this the most realistic they could, it was sickening how accurate and similar it was to the mark one. Tony didn’t even know how they had gotten a good reference of his first arc reactor because he replaced it almost as soon as he was home and had access to his lab and proper tools, he didn’t even like to take off his shirt and show it off. The hardest part of seeing that etched into his son wasn’t how many memories of Afghanistan it forced to the surface, it was the fact that he knew it had been dug into Peter specifically to hurt him, not the innocent boy, but his Father. He reached out a shaky hand and rested it beside the laceration, running a finger along the shallowest of the cuts which were almost fully healed already. “Dad? Can you… say something? Please…” He forced his eyes up into Peter’s and was surprised to see the teen and the room around him was blurred by water. He blinked and felt something wet trailing down his cheek. “Dad, Dad please just turn around, I – I’m gonna cover it, please st – stop looking, it – it’s making you upset, ple –”

 

“No! No Pete, it… it’s not – it isn’t making me upset because of what it means or the memories… it’s just…” He looked down on instinct, to avert eye contact as his composure wavered, but he didn’t think far ahead enough to realise that looking down meant staring at Peter’s chest. He sucked in a shaky breath and tried again, “it’s just, I feel… responsible for it. I mean, they wouldn’t have done that if it wasn’t to hurt me an – and it’s just a repeat of all the times you’ve been hurt because of me. Baby, I – I can’t forgive myself for putting you in danger anymore, you – you could’ve died…” Peter’s face immediately softened but the sad expression lodged in his eyes and surrounding the small concerned crinkles in his brow didn’t ease up.

 

“Dad…” He reached out with grabby hands and fisted them in the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer and burying his face in the crook of his neck, but being careful to keep his still unhealed chest from the embrace. “Dad, Dad no, no, please d – don’t do that, it isn’t your fault, it isn’t, I swear. He would’ve done something else, something worse – I – I don’t know, and I don’t care, I just… please, please don’t blame yourself.” He looked up and when he did Tony could see the tears forming, “If – if it makes you feel better, when I was a – alone that night, trying not to think about how much everything h – hurt, it made it easier… knowing I was being strong f – for you and not j – just me…”

 

“Yeah baby, that – that’s good but, I just – it’s hard to not think about everything that’s happened to you because of me… your whole life is just – it’s always because of me.” Peter tugged incisively at his shirt until Tony looked to him.

 

“Dad, you’re forgetting how often you’ve saved my life too. You’re looking at the bad stuff, not focusing on the good things you’ve done for me.” He hated it when his son was so painfully right, he had a pretty good balance going of saving the kid’s life, but that was only really because of how reckless he was when it came to Spidering around the city. “Don’t you understand how much you’re there for me? How much you help me? You say I mean everything to you, but you always overlook how much you mean to me.” His tears hadn’t fallen, and Tony was glad, because it would have triggered his guilt complex and thrusted it into cycle. “Dad, please… please stop blaming yourself, for me?” Peter moved his face closer and looked up at him through thick, dark lashes, hazel eyes gleaming in the light of the bathroom.

 

“God Petey, you know I can’t get mad when you’re like this,” he pointed out the heavily evident puppy eyes the kid was flashing him. “Fine, fine, you win. Let’s get you showered and in some better clothes.” He managed a soft smile and helped Peter down from the counter, steadying him when the jump made his legs shaky. He tilted his face up and brushed a stray curl aside before looking at his son seriously, “I don’t think that it’s going to scar, and it hasn’t changed anything, the only thing it’s done has proven how brave you are, okay baby?” He pulled Peter close again and rubbed the nape of his neck lightly, running his hand up and down his spine and skipping over the worst wounds.

 

“O – okay,” the boy whispered, returning the embrace and resting his head on Tony’s shoulder. After a moment of silence, they pulled back.

 

“I’m going to make sure you’re okay getting into the shower then I’m waiting just outside so I’ll hear if you call. Does that sound okay for you?” He picked up the pile of clothes from the floor and set them where Peter had sat by the basin.

 

“Yeah, sounds good… um, thanks for – for helping and not, yeah, just – for not, I don’t know, not getting upset.” he waved his arm and gestured to his chest offhandedly while Tony stayed close to his side, helping him over to the shower.

 

“Well I promised didn’t I, and I’ll always keep my promises kiddo.” He smiled warmly and hovered with his arms outstretched, as if to catch Peter if he fell while stepping into the shower. “Alright, clothes are on the counter, towels are just on the wall and I’ll be right outside if you need me.” He reached out and bowed Peter’s neck, so he could press a kiss to the crown of his head. “Just take it slow and keep in mind the water’s gonna sting the cuts at first, be careful.” He stepped back and toed the bathmat with his foot, so it was closer to the shower.

 

“M’kay Dad, I won’t be too long.” He gave another small wave as Tony moved for the door.

 

“Take your time Petey, you deserve it, and it’s not like we’re going to run out of hot water.” He returned the wave and closed the door quietly behind him. 

 

Once he was sure the door had clicked shut, Peter slipped off the Med Bay pants and underwear, throwing them to the side of the room, next to the sink. He closed the tinted glass door to the shower before he shuffled back and turned on the water, standing to the side of the spray so he could ease into it rather than shock his system. Logically, he remembered what warm water felt like, but going just over three weeks without a real shower made the sensation of the heat over his skin feel unfamiliar. He moved his arms under first, trying to get a feel for the temperature before stepping fully under the shower head. Once his arms had adjusted he stepped hesitantly forward so the water hit his neck and ran down from there. He hissed when it dripped down over his chest but quickly turned around on his side, bad hip facing away from the spray. Once the stinging had calmed he slowly turned in a circle, wincing again when the water touched his lower back, where the deepest of the eighty cuts were. It took him a few minutes to get used to the water, but once he did his shoulders sagged and the tension he seemed to hold flooded away.

 

Soap didn’t burn as much as he expected it to, but it did sting similar to how the water had. He rinsed the suds away thoroughly and hung his head, pressing his forehead against the wall and watching the bubbles fall down the drain methodically. He cupped the spray in his hands and rubbed his face, keeping careful of the bruising at the same time. He stepped forward and stood directly under the shower head, letting his hair get wet and begin to drip down his back. He squeezed some shampoo into his hands and worked it into his scalp, rubbing the drenched hair and feeling the bubbles lather up under his fingertips. He tilted his neck back and let the water drain away majority of the residual shampoo, but he shivered when his eyes snapped back open at the memory of trying to stay awake to avoid the sprinklers. The sensation was so vivid in his head that he could practically feel the various chains cuffing his body into rigid, painful positions and holding him there overnight. He shook his head as if to clear it and water flew off his hair when he did so.

 

Peter took a deep breath and focused on the warmth of the shower, and how different it was to the freezing sprinklers. He wiggled his wrists and legs, unconsciously demonstrating the lack of restraints on him despite the tiles and water. He directed his attention to conditioning and while it lathered up similar to the shampoo he experimentally pressed his hand to the wall and pulled back. His lips stretched into a grin when he stuck like normal. Before he rinsed out the conditioner he lazily finger combed his hair with his good arm, letting the other shoulder hang slack at his side. Once his head was clean of suds he just stood for a moment, arms wrapped loosely around his middle and the water hitting the back of his neck. He groaned when he tilted forwards to turn the handle down to shut off the water, shuddering when the cool air hit him as the shower door pushed open. He used a grip on the door to lift himself over the lip of the shower and wriggled his toes in the overly-fluffy bathmat he stepped onto.

 

“Done with the shower?” He heard hid Dad call from somewhere in the hall outside the bathroom.

 

“Yeah, getting dried and dressed now.”

 

“Did the water sting too much?” His voice was slightly high with concern and Peter could picture the angle his head was quirked at in question.

 

“Only a little at first, then it was nice, thanks for letting me take my time.” Tony grumbled something about not having to thank him for everything, which Peter caught thanks to super hearing, but he smiled nonetheless. He wrapped himself in a towel, which was thankfully already warmed from the heated rack and dried himself paying specific attention to the least healed injuries. He tied the towel around his waist and unfolded the pile of clothing his Dad had left on the counter. Plain, grey sweatpants fitted him not as well as usual, but he pulled the string taught and tied a knot to keep them slung over his jutting hipbones. A smirk painted his face when he lifted up the very oversized, white t-shirt with the words ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ printed above a yellow cap. He looked to the last piece and recognised it as his Dad’s black hoodie, the same one he wore during the whole Mandarin and Extremis situation. He lifted the shirt to pull it over his head but grimaced when it tugged at the cuts over his upper-back and shoulders. Toying with the idea of stepping into the shirt and pulling it up that way, he swayed on his feet slightly and rubbed his cheek with a short sigh.

 

“Hey, Dad?” Almost immediately he heard a weight rest on the doorknob from outside and he knew Tony was readying himself to burst in at a moment’s notice.

 

“Yeah, what’s wrong Pete? Need me to come in?” His voice was somewhat more frantic and laced with more concern than before, but he was keeping his calm enough to not barge down the door.

 

“Uh, yeah can you give me a hand please?” He looked up when the door opened, and he met his Dad’s eyes which were, of course, filled with worry. “I’m okay, it’s all good. I just need some help getting the shirt on… my shoulders kinda hurt,” he forced a meek smile to try and calm the evident distress.

 

“Oh, okay that’s – yeah that’s good,” he moved to take the shirt from Peter and arrange it, so he was holding the sleeves and head hole low enough for him to slip into it without raising his arms so much. “Need me to get Helen to check them out and make sure you don’t need anything more for the pain?” He helped the scrawny teen into the shirt by tugging it over his head and letting him pull it down the rest of the way.

 

“No, it’s not too bad, just… a little stiff is all,” he down played how much they actually hurt, it was more of a dull throbbing pain than anything, but he didn’t need any more meds. “Thanks, can I – is the hoodie for me?” He held the soft fabric in his hands and resisted the urge to tuck in under his neck to bury his face in.

 

“Yeah, I figured it was warmer than your blue jumper and I don’t wear it anymore… it might, um, might smell a bit burnt?” He picked a spare towel from the rack and came to stand beside Peter again, helping him zip up the chest and un-ruffle the sleeves. He absolutely swam in the outfit, the sweatpants could probably fit someone with legs three times bigger than his, the tourist shirt had always been too big for him, but now it slipped on his form and presented his collar bones and looked ready to fall off one shoulder. The hoodie didn’t really smell too burnt, which he was happy about, but it was far too large for Peter whose gangly arms were much shorter than the sleeves. “C’mere kiddo,” he urged, moving him back against the counter and letting the teen lean forward while he dried his hair with the towel messily. “Your hair’s gotten pretty long, it’s super curly now,” he commented, finishing drying it as best he could and proceeding to card his fingers through the wavy locks. Peter must have washed his hair because it was incredibly soft and was beginning to fluff up and coil near the nape of his neck and forehead, where it was drying the fastest.

 

“Yeah, I should probably get it cut so it doesn’t get in my face so much.” He leaned into the touch and bunched his hands in the long sleeves of his Dad’s hoodie.

 

“Or you could leave it, I’m pretty sure that’d make it easier for me to play with while you’re asleep.” He pressed a kiss into the curls and led them both out from the bathroom, throwing the Med Bay clothes into the washing basket on their way out. “You still up for lunch? Remember you don’t have to.” Peter shook his head but drooped into Tony’s side while they walked to the elevator.

 

“Nah, I want to, it sounds nice to eat where we normally do. Besides, I should meet everyone and have a proper introduction as… well, I mean as me, I guess.” He let Peter rest his head on his shoulder as he pressed the right button and started moving toward the dining area. He pushed a disobedient bang back behind Peter’s ear and smiled when he noticed the exited flush in his nose and cheeks.

 

“So, you already know Rhodey pretty much, met Cap a couple times, caught Clint in the vents once, Sam and Natasha still haven’t really spoken too?”

 

“I know Rhodey as an intern, haven’t talked to Natasha or Sam except as Spider-Man and when I saw Hawk – uh, Clint, in the vents he apologised and said, ‘wrong conference room’ then I’m pretty sure he just crawled a few rooms over and came into your meeting through the ceiling holding coffee.”

 

“Yep, I remember that, he jumped onto a desk chair and took Cap so off guard that he almost punched him, luckily Nat kicked his seat and it lowered enough, it was a whole thing.” He waved his arms in dismissal of the story and pulled Peter closer to his side. “Just be your normal self and there’s no doubt they’ll find you as endearing as I do.” The boy’s blush spread further and tinted a rosier pink while he looked down to his feet and covered a smile. He had barely managed to murmur a bashful ‘thanks,’ when the elevator pinged and F.R.I.D.A.Y was opening the doors for them to a roomful of Avengers.


	11. Chilli and Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter meets the team over lunch, has a nap on the couch with his Dad. Tony takes some time to reminisce how he came to be a parent and the two are woken by the sound of rain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest chapter I've written so far and I don't know how I got it there. As usual, thank you so much for the positive feedback last chapter and I really hope you love this one!
> 
> Oh and by the way writing baby Peter was the best thing I could not be dragged away from my computer, I just could not stop writing it ahhh.
> 
> Please keep the comments coming they make me so happy and I genuinely write faster when I get them. <3

“You still good?” Peter felt the steady hand over his shoulder drop and he looked up into his Dad’s eyes, swallowing and bobbing his head.

 

“Y – yeah,” he said shakily as he nodded unconfidently. He stepped out of the elevator behind Tony and unconsciously slid closer to his side, so their shoulders brushed. The teen forced himself to look up from the floor, staring out into the room and passing over the collection of people he had grown up admiring from afar while his Dad fought alongside them. There was a beat of silence which Peter spent scanning the faces and willing his cheeks not to flush again.

 

Rhodey was reclined comfortably on a seat at the far end of the table, Steve was leaning against the counter next to Sam while Natasha was sitting with her feet resting on Clint’s chair, which was scooted a small way from the table. Tony didn’t go to move any further into the room, but Peter shifted his weight to his opposite foot and tapped his fingers together nervously. From where his shoulder was lightly pressed against his Dad’s, he could feel the man tensing and un-tensing his arm methodically.

 

Steve looked at Tony, a silent question dancing in his eyes, ‘everything okay?’ The mechanic pressed his lips together and nodded once, not daring to say anything aloud about Peter’s mock reactor for fear of dislodging any more memories. The soldier parted his mouth as if to speak but instead licked his lower lip and pressed them shut again in a hard line, looking down at the bench and picking at an imaginary piece of dirt. The silence stretched on for a moment longer than comfortable, itching towards awkward, and Tony knew the attention was mainly resting on Peter.

 

“What’s the deal, we eating or just standing here?” He broke the silence and tried his best not to twist around and wrap Peter against his chest protectively. Steve blanched but recovered quickly, rapping his knuckles evenly on the counter.

 

“Yeah, I made chilli but there’s also leftover soup in the fridge if you prefer…” he hesitated a moment, feeling incredibly out of his depth leading the conversation. “Uh, Peter, you okay eating normally?” Before the boy could respond, Tony spoke up.

 

“Yeah, he can eat solids, they took him off the I.V not too long ago.” Peter rolled his eyes and moved in-line with his Dad, trying to shake away his nerves.

 

“I’m right here, I can talk,” he tried a small smile and turned to face the person who actually asked him. “Chilli sounds great Mister, uh, America… s – sir Captain?” He mentally kicked himself when he began to feel warmth in his face and rubbed at his nose with a hand still swaddled in the sleeve of his hoodie. He was oblivious to the quickly concealed smiles that flashed across the room.

 

“Steve,” he looked up from the floor, “Steve is perfectly fine, Peter.” He willed the heat away from his face, but he had chosen to be here, he wanted to meet these people as himself.

 

“Okay, I’m not waiting anymore, chuck me a bowl, Cap.” Clint gave Natasha’s feet a friendly shove and she caught them before they dropped to the floor, crossing and tucking them underneath her seat in a fluid motion. The archer walked across to where Steve was opening the lid to a pot, he took a bowl from beside Sam and heaped several spoonful’s into it. “Looks good,” he said, throwing a spoon to Natasha and nudging his head to call her up.

 

“You hungry?” His Dad tapped the zipper on his hoodie and looked at him sceptically when he shrugged.

 

“I guess, yeah?” He had eventually managed to work his portions up to a normal size, but normal for someone without an increased metabolism.

 

“Wanna head up then?” He nodded and trailed closely behind his Dad, hardly looking up for long enough to make eye contact with anyone. At one point his gaze met Rhodey’s and the man shot him a hidden thumbs-up and smiled warmly, Peter’s shoulders relaxed slightly. His portion was smaller than his Dad’s but larger than any other meal he had eaten since he got back home. At the table Natasha and Clint were sitting along the right side, Sam and Steve on the opposite and Rhodey at the end with a spare seat next to him, sitting across from Peter and Tony. For a while, there was quiet while everybody ate, Peter noticed some exchanged glances between the team and once he saw his Dad and Steve make prolonged eye contact that looked as if they were having a silent conversation.

 

“This is horrendous, someone start asking me questions or I’m gonna fall asleep in my bowl.” He tensed when his Dad spoke suddenly, and the man must have noticed because under the table he positioned his leg, so it was leant against the side of Peter’s knee. Steve sighed and rested his head on his arm.

 

“Peter are you comfortable with everyone getting to know you a little better?”

 

“Yeah, of course.” He paused, nervous that he was supposed to lead the conversation and not knowing how. “Do you, um, what did you want to ask?” He twisted a spoon in his fingers and his knee bounced lightly under the table.

 

“You’re Tony’s biological kid?” Sam leant back in his chair, leaving his bowl on the table next to Steve.

 

“Yes.” Peter vaguely wondered if his Dad talked to everyone about asking direct questions.

 

“So, you were the one in the spandex with the white stuff at the airport then?” Clint had the decency to swallow his mouthful before speaking, and Tony was silently grateful.

 

“I was, yeah. The stuff was – is, web fluid that helps me swing and things.” He bit the inside of his cheek before talking again, “about that…” everyone looked up from their chilli curiously and from beside him, Peter felt his Dad tensing again. “Just, uh, sorry about kicking you in the face Mis – um, Steve, and for sticking you to the floor.” He looked to Sam apologetically, “I changed my settings, so all the webs should have dissolved in under half an hour, but yeah, still… sorry.” There was a pause and for a moment the teen thought he had made the wrong choice talking about Germany, but then Steve was grinning, Sam huffed a laugh and Tony was relaxing.

 

“No need to apologise kid, I was the one who fought a sixteen-year-old.”

 

“I swung first, and I was fifteen, but it doesn’t matter, I was perfectly capable of defending myself.” Sam was shaking his head and smiling, Steve winced when Peter said he was fifteen, but there was still an expression of humour on his face.

 

“Just to let you guys know, I didn’t want him involved, but he’s almost as stubborn as me, so it didn’t work out.” Tony spoke through his own grin and looked across at Peter fondly, an approving and encouraging glint in his gaze.

 

“Honestly Tony, that doesn’t surprise me in the slightest,” Natasha’s gaze was even, despite the smirk on her lips and the somehow kind assessment she seemed to be making of Peter. “You two know each other?” She continued, pointing her spoon non-threateningly between Rhodey and Peter in a question which she probably already knew the answer to.

 

“I know the kiddo a little more than you guys, but I didn’t know he was practically my Nephew.” Rhodey was smiling too and it was a kind one, always flicking back to Peter as if feeling out how comfortable he was with the direction of the conversation.

 

“He knows me as an Intern, that’s it, we met a few times, but I never stuck around for long.” He could feel himself relaxing more as the conversation loosened up and so too did everyone’s reluctance to speaking.

 

“I saw you in the lab once, you brought cereal and Tony said the same thing about an internship.” Steve was trying to remember that afternoon, and he could vaguely picture himself ignoring the silent exchange between the two, not to mention how similar he noted their habits were.

 

“I didn’t call Pete to let him know you were in the lab that day, so he just came down like normal and I had to eat his food to pull it off.” Tony smirked at Peter knowingly and the teen responded with an eye-roll.

 

“Yeah I’m pretty sure I used the last of the box, so you should be grateful,” he shot back easily.

 

“So, what did you do when Tony had a meeting with us or we were hanging around this place?” Sam asked curiously.

 

“Went out, patrolled, stayed in my room or the lab and sometimes just got work done in one of the spare conference rooms.” Peter didn’t bother bringing up the fact that Clint had seen him from the vents above the conference rooms.

 

“Yeah, speaking of patrol kid, how’d you get the Spidey powers in the first place?”

 

“Fucking Oscorp…” Tony muttered indignantly, still bitter over the entire ordeal. Steve looked like he wanted to scold him for language in front of a kid, but he bit his tongue and figured Peter was very accustomed to the choice of words.

 

“Yeah, I went on a tour of Oscorp and pretty much just got lost and wound up in a weird area of the building where they must have been testing on Spiders because when one of them bit me it felt… strange. That night I was, I guess feeling sick?” He looked to his Dad who puffed and looked up to the ceiling, trying to forget how easily he had just let the teen have an early night instead of checking him out more. “Anyway, early hours of the next morning I got really sick and it must’ve fixed itself because when I woke up I was sticking to stuff and didn’t need my glasses or anything.”

 

“That’s… that’s super cool, way more awesome than any of us.” Clint looked genuinely exited and Peter was going to try to explain how shitty the change had felt, but he thought about how horrible some people had gotten their abilities. His own Dad had been held hostage for three months with shrapnel stuck inside him, so that was out of the question. “How old were you?”

 

“Fifteen,” he answered honestly, trying not to think of how often his Dad had murmured ‘you’re so young,’ when he came home bruised and limping.

 

“You good Tones?” Peter looked over to his Dad when he heard the tinge of concern in Rhodey’s voice, to his surprise he was poking at his chilli and shaking his head slowly.

 

“Dad?” For the others around the table it was extremely convoluted to hear someone calling their teammate, whom they had known for years at this point, Dad.

 

“I’m fine, just… it’s hard sometimes – to think about how much stuff has happened to you, you’re still so young.” Peter resisted the urge to roll his eyes for the third time and instead chose to rest a hand on Tony’s arm and smile privately to him, in hopes of easing the guilt that no doubt clawed at his heart.

 

“It’s fine, I can handle things, m’ just glad you’re here to help. Don’t blame yourself.” The man visibly calmed, the team watched as his shoulders relaxed, and he reached out to pat Peter’s hand, which still rested on his arm, and returned his smile gratefully.

 

“I know buddy, I know.” The teen smiled wider and the adoration in Tony’s eyes was glaringly clear to everyone sat at the table. They all knew that the man had always had issues surrounding physical contact, Rhodey had known him for the longest and the most contact he’d ever had was a hug right after Afghanistan. Touching and Tony didn’t mix, and nobody questioned him about it, most of them were finicky when it came to letting people in their personal space, mostly due to how they were all mostly taught to always be on guard. So, you couldn’t blame any of them when they were shocked by how well their teammate was responding to the physical contact with his son, how the tension seemed to melt away from both of the Starks when they touched or how Tony knew to reach out for the boy when things got to be too much.

 

“Tony?” Steve sounded unsure of himself but tried to unwind his thoughts when the parent turned toward him with an eyebrow raised.

 

“What’s up Capsicle?”

 

“Can I ask, honestly, were you planning on telling us, or did you ever think about us meeting Peter?” There were nods of agreement and everyone turned to face Tony with inquiry plastered across their faces. The Father shifted in his seat and let his hand drop from Peter’s arm and fall to the table quietly.

 

“I think…” he paused and pondered for a moment, eyes flicking up to the ceiling in thought. “I was firstly waiting until he had at least finished high-school, then I would’ve had to make sure he actually wanted to… and I would’ve maybe said something sooner because of the Spider stuff, but then the whole thing – with the Accords I guess, they, uh… made me more hesitant to say anything. Especially because I didn’t know where you all were and the fact that you met Spider-Man, despite me not wanting that,” he turned and shot Peter an exaggerated frown before continuing, “prior to actually meeting Peter… Peter Stark.”

 

“That’s… yeah th – that’s fair.” There was silence once more and everyone seemed to focus more on their chilli then forcing the conversation to continue. “I’ll clear up,” Steve said suddenly.

 

“If it means anything, I would have – I mean, I did want to meet you as me, it was, uh, it would’ve been… I think I would have loved to meet you under b – better circumstances.” Tony draped an arm over Peter’s shoulder and leaned over to press a kiss against his temple. The boy didn’t make eye contact with anyone, but his eye twitched when Steve stood up and his Dad’s fingers tightened protectively in response.

 

“Thanks kid, I would’ve liked that too, we all would have.” Steve went around the table the long way to collect plates, letting Tony stack his own and Peter’s. “You make my teammate happy, you’re a good kid,” he added plainly, as if making Tony happy automatically made Peter a good person, but the teen supposed that was a fair judgement considering his Dad was the most important person in his life and had been for sixteen years.

 

“Tired?” He shook his head, hoping his Dad wouldn’t drag him back down to the Med Bay.

 

“I’m fine, we can stay longer, I – I want to.” Tony eyed him cautiously, trying to gauge his pain levels, searching for anything that hinted he was uncomfortable before deciding against forcing him back to bed and nodding in agreeance. The sound of chairs being scooted back from the table filled the room and Peter stood awkwardly beside his Dad while Steve rinsed the dishes and Rhodey put the leftovers in the fridge. “Thanks for the chilli, it was good,” he said quietly, knocking the top of his hands against the underside of the bench slowly, giving himself something to do so he wasn’t standing still.

 

“No problem, you cook much Peter?” For a moment, the thought of Captain America asking him such a domestic question about himself felt surreal, at least, before he remembered that Iron Man was his Dad and he webbed criminals on the side.

 

“A little, normally just helping out with dinner or making breakfast.” The truth was, he got better at cooking after Afghanistan and the Accords, because he hated to see his Dad sat at the table, too busy wallowing in haunted, remorseful memories to find the strength to get up and consume anything other than cold coffee. Obviously, he didn’t say that aloud, or think about it more than he had to.

 

“Cap’s teaching himself, trying to learn how to do things other than boil the crap out of stuff and make do with rations,” Clint patted the soldier on the shoulder and grinned. “I’m surprised he’s been able to use a proper oven,” Steve gave a lopsided grin and shook his head disapprovingly, throwing a dish cloth over his shoulder. “Mm, yummy Cap war food,” he said teasingly.

 

“It’s not that hard of a concept to grasp. Don’t mix cheese and seafood, don’t –” Steve began.

 

“Oh god, spare us, stop encouraging him Clint,” Natasha snatched the dish cloth from his back and balled it up before aiming at the archer, who ducked expertly. Steve caught it and returned to drying dishes, scowling with no real heat at the two. Rhodey shut the fridge and circled the bench, touching Tony gently on the shoulder.

 

“Alright I gotta head, take it easy Pete, text me if you need Tones.” The two nodded, Peter managed a small wave. He assumed the man was going to physical therapy.

 

“I’m getting you some water, one second.” Tony slipped through between Sam and Steve, filling a glass from the fridge. “What’s everyone doing after this?”

 

“Clint and Sam are helping me,” Natasha supplied. Tony quirked an eyebrow at her in question, “important mission,” she said offhandedly while glaring at him with something unsaid. He seemed to understand and nodded, snapping his mouth shut while a scowl crossed his face.

 

“Is this what I helped you with last night Nat?” Steve said slowly, treading lightly for some apparent reason. She nodded, keeping the same focus of a silent conversation.

 

“When am I getting a chance to deal with that piece of… the mission. When am I coming?” Peter was surprised to see a look in his Father’s eyes that he rarely got to, it was dark, consuming, alluding to something much more wrathful then what he conveyed. The question was practically spat, he was desperate for something and it made Peter shiver.

 

“Dad?” His voice wavered and he internally winced when the pitch came out high and discordant. Everyone turned to look at him and Steve muttered to Natasha that the matter should be spoken about later while she led Clint and Sam to the elevator, her shoes clicking against the floor commandingly. Tony rounded the counter and put the glass of water in front of Peter, stepping close to his side after he did so. The teen looked up at the aberrant look in his eyes before shaking one of his hands out from inside the hoodie’s sleeve and tugging a finger into his Dads belt loop, seeking comfort. “What was th –”

 

“Doesn’t matter, it isn’t important.” He pulled Peter into his chest and pressed a kiss to the crown of his head carefully. “You’re what’s important to me right now,” he whispered into the curls softly, almost reminding himself of the fact as well as Peter.

 

“I’m heading to the lab, so I can sort some of the things we spoke about and put them on a separate disk.” Tony might have mouthed something back to Steve but if he did it wasn’t important enough to the teen to dislodge the embrace. After a few minutes his Dad pulled away just enough to look down at him and smile reassuringly.

 

“I’m guessing you don’t want to go back to the Med Bay just yet?” He shook his head decisively and peeled away from his Dad, reaching for the water. “What do you feel like doing then, anything in particular?” After a few sips and a moment to think, he shook his head again and shrugged indifferently. “You wanna just curl up and watch something with me?”

 

“Yeah, can we get some blankets? m’ cold again,” he exemplified by lifting his hands under his chin and tucking them there.

 

“Yeah, you need anything else to eat or is there any more pain?” Despite the headache that was growing slightly, Peter shook his head and followed his Dad to the lounge. “The team loved you kid, you’re too precious for them,” Tony said over his shoulder while he collected various throws and blankets.

 

“Mm, you think?” He replied offhandedly, picking up a cushion from a smaller couch and throwing it onto the usual one him and his Dad normally watched movies on.

 

“Definitely – Natasha doesn’t normally talk, just… observes coldly. Sam’s similar but I think you got him and Cap with the unneeded sorry’s,” he plopped himself down and adjusted a cushion behind him. “You gotta stop with those too, you hardly ever have anything to actually apologise for.” Reclining and stretching his legs out, he patted the space beside him, “hey, you alright?”

 

Peter stood stiffly, one hand gripping his opposite elbow and his feet constantly shuffling from side to side. He bit his lip and looked at the floor unsurely, avoiding eye contact just like he had at the table. “Pete, what’s up?” He didn’t need to look up to picture the concern on his Dad’s face, it was all projected in the tone of his voice.

 

“I just… earlier, the ‘mission,’ you were – you were talking about Ryan. Weren’t you?” His Dad looked at his hands and fiddled with them momentarily, almost guiltily. “I get it, I mean I get why you didn’t want to talk about it… but you don’t have to – you shouldn’t have to hide stuff and walk on eggshells around me. I – I’m getting better with talking about things. I don’t want to make you… I – I don’t know, distant?”

 

“Hey, come here kiddo,” and that was pretty much all the indication Peter needed before he was burying himself in his Dad’s hold and nuzzling his face into his neck. “I’m never going to be distant, okay, so that’s easy. I’m not ‘walking on eggshells’ around you, I’m trying to be careful what I say, yeah, but I’m not pitying you. I won’t hide things if you don’t want me to, but I will wait to talk about them until I feel like you’re ready.” He reached around and rubbed the nape of Peter’s neck, wrapping his opposite arm around his waist and pulling him further onto the couch so he wasn’t in danger of slipping off the edge. “What we were discussing before doesn’t relate to you specifically, it has to do with the legality issues of running an… illegal operation involving people with abilities, not to mention hijacking an abandoned science facility. Yes, it does involve… people who participated in – in the, fuck Peter, I don’t – the guys who –”

 

“Dad, it’s okay, we – we don’t have to talk about it.” Peter locked his arms around Tony’s neck and pressed his face closer, squeezing softly in assurance.

 

“Thanks baby, I just want you to be able to focus on getting better and not have to worry about anything else.” He felt a smile against his neck in response, “what?”

 

“Nothing, it’s just – well, I mean I still have school to worry about.” He frowned and looked down at his watch.

 

“Pete, you’re well into break now, and I called the office for the days you miss –”

 

“It’s already break?” He tilted his head and looked up from the side of his eye inquisitively, smiling more when his Dad nodded once. “Oh, okay, that’s good then.” He snuggled closer and contained a yawn as his head slid down from the neck to the ribcage tiredly.

 

“Peter?” The boy turned his head up and made a soft noise as if to ask ‘mm, what?’ “You nap, I won’t tell Helen, we’ll head back later.” The precious smile he got in return was definitely worth the small amount of hesitance he had offering to stay in the lounge to sleep. “Love you kiddo,” he said quietly, pulling a blanket up and over Peter’s slowly slumping form.

 

“Love you too Dad,” he whispered straight back without pause, wiggling his shoulders and making a small noise of appreciation for the blanket. In all honestly, it didn’t take long for the boy to fall asleep, it also didn’t take long for Tony’s hand to find its way into his curls like it had so many times before. He noticed, achingly, that Peter’s face softened in sleep, the wariness and slightest hints of anxiety melted away and he looked younger, so much more innocent. Almost as if he hadn’t gone through the most traumatic three weeks of his entire life. Moments like this, with his son resting on his chest, reminded Tony of earlier in both their lives, when they weren’t plagued with memories of torture, surgery, wormholes and collapsed buildings.

 

\----

 

‘Sir, I am very well aware of your lifestyle and I can appreciate the fact that you may be incredibly busy at this moment, but this matter is urgent.’ The voice on the other end of the phone was nasally and upset the headache Tony was currently nursing. He sighed, audibly, wanting to milk the ‘I am Tony Stark’ excuse for as long as he could without having to admit he was lying in bed, undressed and not working.

 

‘I’m going to need somewhat more information on what this matter is and why I’m being called by a hospital in Queens, New York, at –’ he glanced over and proceeded to tilt his alarm clock against the glow of the windows. He silently cursed Jarvis for peeling back the curtains at the ungodly hour of… ‘Eleven thirty on a Friday morning? I need to know at least that much before I drop everything and fly over there like you so request, miss…?’

 

‘Katherine Reys,’ the woman responded abruptly, ignoring the business man’s intrusive sighing. ‘The matter isn’t the type I would normally discuss over the phone, and you are being called by my hospital in Queens, New York, because I work here, and this is my job to call people like you and notify you of these particular type of situations.’ The false customer service ‘phone call voice’ she had used before was dropped when all she was met with was the blunt, unconcentrated annoyance of a severely hungover Tony Stark. The genius however, wasn’t backing down and was also not willing to roll out of bed for anything less than life or death.

 

‘Well if that’s all you’re willing to say then I will not be seeing you soon, thanks so much for the call, really truly a good use of my valuable time, goodb –’

 

‘A child was dropped off and an indication was left of you being the Father.’ Well out of the options of hanging up and hearing nothing about this ever again and the woman caving and telling him what he wanted to know, he certainly hadn’t expected whatever that was.

 

‘Uh, I’m – I’m sorry? What the fuck?’ He spluttered, sitting up swiftly and biting back the wave of nausea that bubbled up along with the movement.

 

‘I assume I should prepare for you arrival?’ The smarmy and self-pleased tone in the woman’s voice made Tony want to throw his phone, but he was busy having a mild existential crisis at the notion of him being the biological parent of a… another human being. ‘Sir am I correct in this assumption?’ It was a very clear set-up question, she wanted him to have to admit she was right, but he was taking the cocky way out while he could still find his personality.

 

‘Flight from Malibu to New York is six hours, I’ll procrastinate until your shift’s over dear.’ He sneered and hung up, immediately flopping back onto the mattress and groaning loudly as his head barely missed smacking the wall behind him. ‘Fuck, fuck, shit! What the hell am I doing?’ He proceeded to moan loudly until he reached the shower and let the spray wash away as much of the hangover as possible, before downing a glass of water and aspirin appropriately. He refused to call Obadiah, knowing exactly how he would react, skipped over Rhodey’s contact for fear of the intervention he always threatened actually surfacing. In reality, his friend probably knew how little an intervention would work and so never bothered. It would have to be Pepper, he hated that because he was getting an earful about responsibility and he knew it but pressed the number nonetheless. ‘Pep, I need you to come to New York with me, I royally screwed up. Reprimand me on the flight over, just meet me at the jet, please.’ He tacked on the please at the end or she wouldn’t have showed up, and the part of him that recognised how much of an unlikeable asshole he was tacked some self-hatred onto his guilt complex. Suffice to say, he was an absolute and total mess of a human right now and should definitely not be given the opportunity to even be in the same room as a child, let alone one that was his son. If his own Father was enough of an example of what a Stark was like, he should probably just quit casual hook-ups all together just to eradicate the possibility of bringing something so pure into the world. Because, inevitably, he would ruin it, be it with his alcoholism, lack of stability in general or the strange wall he instinctively puts up to distance himself from anyone he could ever possibly have a real relationship with.

 

‘Tony what did you do? If I need to burn another suit I swear to –’

 

‘No, Pep I didn’t – I just, fuck. I, uh, meet me at the jet, please, I’ll explain when I know myself. Better yet, you can just come with me and understand on your own, so you can yell later.’ He heard a sigh that was less dramatic than his own had been, but just as irritated.

 

‘Fine, only because I’m not in the mood to get you appointments I’ll eventually have to cancel anyway.’ The call snapped off before he could mutter a displeased thanks.

 

Twenty-two minutes later and he was pulling off his tinted glasses and sinking into the plush cushioning of his private jet with Pepper sat across from him, angrily stabbing a phone and looking to him incredulously. ‘I honestly cannot believe you Tony, four separate publishers I had to convince not to print those photos of you from last night. Seriously, how in the hell did you manage to get yourself home and in bed?’

 

‘Can we at least look on the bright side of things, I didn’t bring anyone back home with me this time.’ Pepper pressed her lips into a stern line and looked at him accusingly.

 

‘You did. Black hair, blue dress, out the front door by eight o’clock.’ He groaned and shook his head, not even bothering to sort through the blurry assortment of memories which comprised of about nine percent of his night. ‘Thankfully, she was just glad to have met you and didn’t cause any more trouble.’ He leant back and slid his glasses back on, tinting the inside of the jet so dark that everything was just a varied, black, blob of figure. ‘Where are we going?’

 

‘Hospital, Queens.’ He looked out the window and tried not to think about food, or anything solid for that matter, in fear of lunging for the nearest air sickness bag.

 

‘I’m not even going to ask this time,’ she bit back irately. The rest of the flight was passed in resigned silence, which he was heavily grateful for. Apart from the splitting headache, urge to puke his lungs out, and announcement of a possible child, his day was just overall shit so far, they were just the cherries on top. Now he was thinking about food and he needed to go to the bathroom and throw up. Fuck, abort mission his life was an utter mess.

 

Several hours later they were landing, and his headache was beginning to subside, which gave his mind more time to take control and start to whirl with anxieties and fears. If this was true, if he had a child, what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t leave it to the foster system, he didn’t think raising it would be a smart idea, given the sheer amount of stupidity and recklessness his life displayed. It felt like he broke anything he got close to, Obadiah was constantly running in his wake and wiping his publicity issues under the rug for the company’s sake, Pepper was just a forever state of exhausted with him, Rhodey was threatening to ban him from alcohol and Happy was paid to watch out for him, so he didn’t count. That was it, three people he was close to and all of them were sick of him, in what world was he ever fit to raise a child?

 

‘Where we headed Sir?’ He listed off the address of the hospital and tried not to focus on how much he wanted a drink to numb this whole situation for him. That was his deal, as soon as life cropped up with something even remotely hard to deal with, he drank, and his life was stressful so that explained why he was drunk half the time and hungover the rest of it.

 

‘Tony we’re here, get out of the car.’ He shook his head blearily and stared out the window, how long had they been idling here on the side of the road waiting for him to snap out of his head?

 

‘Yeah, okay let’s deal with this shit then.’ He slid out the door and closed it behind him, slipping the driver a tip and walking toward the front door of the hospital. ‘Fuck me,’ he said under his breath and pulled sunglasses over his eyes to hopefully disguise the fact that he was still miserably hungover. He strode to the front desk and ignored the bustle of nurses and doctors that shoved past each other down the hallway.

 

‘How can I help?’ A man behind a computer screen said, his fingers on the up and down arrows, obviously playing some game on his computer.

 

‘Looking for Katherine Reys or whoever works in her department if she’s not in.’ Thankfully, the man didn’t look too closely at him and Tony felt relieved that he wasn’t going to have to worry about press seeing him.

 

‘Level two, her office is the third door and has her name on it, I think her shift finishes later.’ He grit his teeth, not wanting to have to deal with the woman he spoke to on the phone, but guided Pepper to the elevator regardless. He didn’t bother saying anything on their way up, but Pepper did when she realised where they were going.

 

‘This is the section that deals with children and babies, why are we here, what the hell did you do?’ He shrugged and walked down the hall, wrapping his knuckles on the door which hung Katherine’s name plate.

 

‘I’m glad you made it, please come in, take a seat.’ She seemed to have picked up her customer service persona back up because she smiled warily and gestured to two seats in her office. Once he was seated, still wearing his glasses despite the minimal lighting indoors, she looked to him and spoke. ‘Do you happen to remember one Mary Fitzpatrick, you would have known her over nine month ago?’ He bit the side of his cheek and shook his head rather guiltily while Pepper rolled her eyes from beside him. ‘I have a picture if that would help,’ she opened her drawer and pulled out a manila folder, holding up a newspaper clipping of a woman he did in fact recognise.

 

‘Yeah I do actually, she was at an event I had to attend, it got late, there were drinks, sue me.’ Pepper huffed, and Katherine pursed her lips.

 

‘Have you been in contact with her since then?’ He shook his head and bit back the multiple sarcastic remarks that were laced at the tip of his tongue. ‘We have security footage from two days ago of her dropping off a child at this hospital with a note and leaving again.’ He swallowed, leaning forward in his seat, interested. ‘The note was addressed to us, explaining her situation and why she was unable to care for a child, the page also listed that she suspected you were the Father.’ Pepper gaped, and he refused to look directly at her, just stayed facing forward and trying not to dry heave. ‘The only reason we were able to figure out who she was is because of the security footage, we are going to need to take a DNA test to determine whether or not her claim is true.’

 

‘Do you know how many claims we get like this? I assure you Tony is not liable for –’ Pepper started in her business voice, but he cut her off abruptly.

 

‘I’ll take the test. I want it rushed, not matter the cost I need it as soon as possible.’ Katherine nodded and gave him a paper to take to another floor for the test, which he did. To be fair, it only took them two days to call him back to come in again. Pepper came with him, his legal team weren’t far in preparation for the worst, she had said on the drive there. He dutifully ignored her and chose to focus on wiping his hands on his pant legs, fiddling with his glasses and thrumming his fingers against the seat.

 

‘Do you want the results now, or privately?’ Katherine looked to Pepper and Tony waved the notion aside, he needed Pepper here, so he wouldn’t snap. ‘You are the Father, Mary was correct. We have things in place for situations like this, we have managed to find a number to contact the Mother so with her permission the child can be registered into the foster syst –’

 

‘I want to read the note before you do anything else.’ The woman dug around in the file and pulled out a page. She left the room to let him read it, collecting something from the printer with the promise to be back shortly. The note was printed, formal and didn’t say much about him, just that he was the most likely Father. Apparently, Mary was unable to deal with a child because of her job, her work was too important, and it was no environment for a child to grow up in. Nowhere in the letter did she say what she wanted or where the kid should go but she had given a name. Peter, the child was a boy named Peter. Katherine walked back into the office when he folded the letter back up and laid it on her desk.

 

‘We looked through our records and she had the baby here over four months ago, she dropped him here four days ago.’

 

‘Why did it take this long for you to contact me, where was the kid kept for four days?’

 

‘It took us awhile to get the security footage and because no names were left, we needed to be sure this wasn’t a false claim. He was cared for by staff and stayed at the hospital, we have sufficient resources for children that are left here.’ He scowled and tried to not be surprised by how angered he was by the idea of this child being left for the hospital staff. ‘I have documents for you to sign that allow us to contact Mary and sort the child into the system.’

 

‘You aren’t calling Mary, she said herself that work was too important right now and I remember from the party she was researching something very vital, so leave her out of it and I’ll have my legal team sort everything out.’ Katherine looked up at the ceiling exasperatedly.

 

‘You’re telling me that you will take on the responsibility of getting the child into the system then?’ Pepper whispered his name and he ignored her.

 

‘I want to see him, then I’ll decide what I want, thanks.’ He glared at the table and tried not to think about how fucked up this entire thing was. He did remember Mary, she was one of his many hook-ups whose name he remembered, she was smart, very much so, and that had intrigued him that night. They talked for hours about her research before he invited her back to where he had been staying, he didn’t remember the night, but she was gone the next morning.

 

‘I can organise that,’ Katherine said, typing something into a computer before leading him and Pepper out of the room and down the hall. ‘His name is Peter, he’s quite responsive for his age so don’t be surprised by that.’ She slid a key card into a door and green flashed before they were buzzed into a hallway with windows on one side and doors on the other. ‘That’s where children stay, he’s the only one we have at the moment.’ There were rows of various sized cots that Tony could see through the window and true to Katherine’s word, all but one of them were unoccupied. There was a mound of blankets which he didn’t get to see for long before she was opening the door for him and he hesitantly stepped in.

 

On the far side was the bed holding the kid, and he made a very slow beeline for it, clenching and unclenching his fists periodically and wishing he wasn’t here. The pile of blankets were cheap, and his head screamed to throw money at the problem and ignore it, but this was different, he was responsible for this child. At the foot of the crib he leaned forward and looked in as if something might burn him, tentatively, anxiously. A tiny hand was clutching a corner of one of the blankets and he saw a tuft of curly, brown hair poking out. He wasn’t typically fond of avoiding children, but he didn’t coo over them like most people did, Rhodey always said when a kid asked for an autograph he would soften and drop the billionaire persona, but he never thought about it. He reached into the cot and flipped one edge of the blanket down carefully and was met with the sleeping face of a baby.

 

‘Peter,’ he breathed quietly, testing out the name for no good reason. ‘So, you’ve been here by yourself for four days, huh?’ He very slowly tucked a finger into the open palm of the child’s hand and didn’t flinch when the tiny hand closed around it like a Venus flytrap. A warm smile curled at the edge of his lips and he bottled it up, denying any of the strange feeling that crept through his chest when the hot little fingers pinched his own. ‘Hi,’ he murmured quietly. The blankets shuffled, and he realised the baby was kicking one leg out weakly and scrunching his face up cutely. No, it wasn’t cute it just was, a fact, not cute. He untucked the blankets and marvelled at how small the child really was, so fragile looking, so holdable. ‘You’re – you look tiny kid.’ He said, rubbing a thumb over the backside of the hand that clutched his finger. He stilled when the child made a small noise from the back of its throat and squeezed his finger tighter before fluttering his lids.

 

Tony was met with the largest, most innocent, hazel doe eyes he had ever seen. They were so painfully, obviously his own eyes that he blanked, staring back at the baby and waiting for something to happen. The child, Peter, yawned and reached out his opposite arm, clinging to the cuff of Tony’s suit and making his cufflinks jingle together.

 

‘Ah,’ he said, breaking the silence and staring right back up at Tony happily. He kicked a leg out again and opened his mouth to reveal pink gums before shutting it again and smiling. ‘Ah.’ The child cried again, smiling wider.

 

‘Hey, yeah, hi there,’ he smiled back and reached his other arm into the cot to run a gentle finger over the kid’s soft cheek calmingly. ‘You’re Peter… God, I made you,’ he said to himself, still not really grasping the concept of how he had a hand in creating something so small and soft. The baby practically mewled and rolled on his side into the careful touch. Tony felt his heart wrench as he remembered that the kid had basically been left alone for four days. ‘I’m not gonna leave till you got someone kiddo,’ he promised, continuing to stroke over Peter’s cheek. The doe eyes blinked, and he took note of the surprisingly dark lashes that lined them, so contrasting to the rest of his features that were all soft and plain. Pink gums, rosy lips and cheeks, hazel eyes and the lashes that were shockingly like his own. Peter was on his side now and reaching out with one grabby hand, trying to latch onto every part of Tony. ‘You wanna be held, hm?’

 

‘Ah!’ The baby answered, and he let the bottled smile creep across his face for real. Tony carefully rested his hands around the child’s body and lifted him up slowly. He tucked the small form against his shoulder and tilted his head so fluffy locks leant against his neck. Peter giggled and tapped his hands onto Tony’s pulse point before reaching out and laying an open-palm over his stubble curiously. ‘Bah,’ he said quietly, almost as if he knew what a beard was.

 

‘Yeah,’ Tony whispered back, taking in as much of the child at close proximity, ‘my god, you look like me already…’ He rested his lips on Peter’s head, definitely not kissing him, or at least not kissing him obviously. ‘I can’t give you to strangers, can I?’ Doubt prickled inside him, and the idea of signing a few pages and leaving Peter in the system suddenly seemed like something Howard would have done.

 

‘Nuh.’ He blinked and looked down at Peter.

 

‘Did you say no? You said no to my question?’ When did babies talk again, was he getting an answer to the question he had been asking himself since the test came back, from a baby?

 

‘S’ran – gah,nuh,’ Peter managed before he was tugging at Tony’s collar and using it to pull his face into the crook of his neck.

 

‘No stranger? Oh god, you cold? Is that why you’re burrowing into me?’ He didn’t get an answer, just the sensation of delicate, warm skin pressed into his neck. ‘No, no you’re right Peter,’ he could feel when the hazel eyes were blinking, because the lashes brushed against his skin. ‘I can’t leave you alone, how could I?’ This was not smart, this was bordering on selfish. He wanted this kid because it was like a part of him, and maybe he was being selfish by not wanting the baby to enter the foster system. Perhaps he was denying the kid a normal life, but he would be damned if he was walking away from this hospital and leaving the child in a cot surrounded by cheap blankets and being taken care of by underpaid staff with nasally voices. ‘You’re soft,’ he breathed, nuzzling his cheek against the somehow already thick mass of brunette hair.

 

‘Ah,’ Peter reached up and poked Tony’s cheeks. The mechanic pulled back and held the child carefully in front of his face.

 

‘What’s wrong? You wanna stay here? You wanna come home with me?’ Large, wide eyes blinked back at him. Tony thought they were filled with sourly misplaced trust, but he couldn’t bring himself to put the kid back in the cot and walk away.

 

‘Meh, hoh.’ It could have been, and it most likely was, just Tony’s twisted head turning the crafted syllables into words he secretly wanted to hear, but it sounded like Peter said ‘Me, home.’ It was enough for him, and he ran with it, curling the child back up against his neck and soaking in the feeling of tiny fingers pulling at his shirt collar. ‘Goh hoh,’ he didn’t have a hangover anymore, he wasn’t dreading Pepper’s mouthful, he didn’t care about the stupidly nasally voice of Katherine, he was perfectly content to hold this child. His child.

 

‘Tony?’ He heard a tap on the glass and he slowly turned around and met eyes with Pepper. Katherine stood outside the window beside her, looking between him and Peter with unreadable expressions. Pepper lifted her phone and looked ready to ask about foster care, but she paused, carefully examined Tony’s face and lowered her hand. ‘You – are you really doing this?’ He nodded once and looked down at the baby resting on him, wanting to sink into the floor and bask in the warmth that bubbled inside him and filled an empty void he had stuffed with alcohol and meaningless sex for years. ‘I’m calling the legal team and getting them to keep this under wraps and bring adoption papers I guess…’

 

‘We have those here, and also the necessary forms to fill out for foster care, if you chose that.’ Katherine’s voice implied she thought he should do just that, put the kid down and walk out now.

 

‘Yeah Pepper, it – he’s me, Peter’s not staying here, not alone anymore.’ Even with the doubt inside him, the warm feeling said that giving his child a name, a face, a voice, meant there was no way in hell, in any universe, he was letting him slip away into the depths of foster care and orphanages. ‘Can you even talk kid, say a name?’ He craned his head to look at the doe eyes. ‘Tony, Peter, Stark, Dad, baby, anything?’

 

‘Peter,’ the child said confidently, clearly well associated with his own name. ‘Tuh – toh nay,’ his nose crinkled and scrunched in concentration and the warm feeling spread so intensely that his legs felt weak for a moment.

 

‘Tony,’ he repeated.

 

‘Toh – ne. Toh ney,’ Peter smiled more and reached out to poke Tony’s earlobe and giggle again.

 

‘Pep, I need to – I’m biologically his Dad, I gotta.’ He looked to her and felt reassured when she was on the phone to somebody, shooting him a nod but watching Peter with one eye. When she hung up she opened the door and poked her head in to talk.

 

‘Legal team is on their way, you sure you want to do this Tony?’

 

‘Toh – ny.’ Pepper looked down to Peter, surprised, and took in his golden-brown eyes, fluffed hair and dark lashes.

 

‘He looks like you… he said your name, he’s barely five months yet.’ It seemed to click for her then, why Tony was able to lock in the need to protect the child, why he was softening instead of reinforcing his walls. ‘He’s adorable…’ she took a step into the room before her phone buzzed and she jumped slightly. ‘I need to take this, it’s legal,’ she let the door close quietly behind her and Tony smiled down at Peter.

 

‘Yeah, Tony, there you go.’ He pressed his lips down to the top of Peter’s head again and hid his fond smile. Peter made a happy noise and curled his small arms as far around Tony’s neck as they would reach, beginning to chew on the collar of his shirt. Although he could feel the dampness of it, he couldn’t peel the child away from him, instead pulling him closer and rubbing his tiny back with one supportive hand.

 

‘We need to sort out some paperwork now, uh Katherine, can Peter – can Tony just keep holding him?’ He looked up at the door and caught Katherine’s judgemental and sceptical expression.

 

‘It’s a process, he should get more sleep.’ She scratched a nail and tapped the key card in her hands as if bored.

 

‘I’m not leaving him in here by himself, he can come with me or I’ll stay in here with him. Four days is a long enough time to be alone,’ he said harshly, snaking a hand up and into Peter’s curls, rubbing small circles. He felt the small hands gripping tighter and heard the small contented puff of air the child breathed out at the movement.

 

‘Fine, you can bring him and wait in my office, but know that he was not left by himself for four days, he was fed and supervised properly.’ He scoffed but carried Peter to the door, keeping him pressed securely against his neck and chest. ‘I hope you fully grasp the responsibility of raising a child and the necessity of having their best interests at heart.’ She looked at him coldly, and he knew she wanted nothing more than to say outright he was going to ruin Peter.

 

‘I’m aware, this is my son, he is my responsibility.’ Pepper looked at him from where she was walking ahead to the office, behind Katherine.

 

‘You’re adopting a child Tony. You need to be certain, and you need to be prepared to make a lot of important choices really soon.’ Unlike what he had expected, Pepper wasn’t discouraging him, she was making sure that he was conscious of exactly what he was deciding to do.

 

‘I’ll rephrase, I am certain that I want to raise my son, Peter. I will sign anything but he’s living with me, he deserves a home, a Dad.’ Peter squirmed from his neck and twisted in his arms, Tony slowed immediately and let the boy readjust himself before he kept moving. He twisted so he was facing up in Tony’s arms and gazed at him with wide eyes. He reached his arms high and wiggled his fingers.

 

‘Dah,’ he squealed and continued waving his arms up towards the mechanic’s face and neck.

 

‘What’s the matter?’ He felt slight fear squeezing his throat, he snapped his head up and worriedly asked, ‘has he been fed today?’ Katherine turned to face him at her door and before pushing it open, glared offendedly.

 

‘Of course he was fed, just because he’s the only child that needs to be cared for right now doesn’t mean we don’t have employees whose sole job is to take care of the kids waiting for child services to assign them a home.’ He quite honestly could have snarled at that if he didn’t think it would have startled the baby he held.

 

‘So, you’re meaning to tell me that Peter was going to sit in that cot and wait until a foster family decided they wanted him?’ He looked down at the child in his arms and gave him a finger which was soon wrapped in an eager hand that pulled it down and held it against his cheek. ‘Oh okay, I get what you want kid,’ he lightly ran his finger up and down the side of his face like he had earlier and smiled when Peter closed his eyes against the sensation and made another noise of content. When he was certain the child had settled again, he looked back up to Katherine and glowered at her.

 

‘He was fed, changed, bathed and supervised when he needed to be, if you hadn’t shown up he would have been picked up by child services in a few more days and found a sufficient home.’ She walked into the room and gestured to the two seats, ‘I’m assuming we’re waiting for your legal team?’ Pepper nodded quickly.

 

‘Unless there are things I can sign now to move this along, yes.’ He caught Pepper watching Peter curl up against his finger and may have seen a hint of a smile on her face before it was wiped by the woman’s question.

 

‘No, Tony, we’re waiting for legal.’ She gave him a firm look and he relented.

 

‘Fine, they’re based in New York anyway,’ Peter was copying his movements and running his small fingers up and down Tony’s wrist happily. He shook his hand slowly and jet his cufflinks jingle together, prompting Peter to open his hazel eyes and blink curiously up at them.

 

‘Ah,’ he reached up for them and batted one against the other, blinking once again when they clinked above him. He tugged Tony’s arm downwards and slid a hand inside his sleeve, rattling the metal cufflinks meticulously and staring at them in wonder.

 

‘Right well I’m going to sort out some things with his file and I assume you want Mary’s name kept off all the official documents?’ He nodded and didn’t bother to look up from where Peter was playing with his shirt and holding his wrist like his life depended on it. ‘You can stay in here then, I’ll be back shortly.’ He didn’t acknowledge her as she left but he did look to Pepper who was messaging someone on her phone.

 

‘I’m dealing with the legal team, you’re going to have to make your first choice now then. Is he being kept away from the press, or are you going to leave it be?’ Without missing a single beat, he answered.

 

‘I’m not telling anyone about him, he’s not going to be shoved into the spotlight like I was.’ From the serious tone Pepper had used before he expected the first decision he had to make was going to be difficult, but that was a no-brainer. Howard hadn’t given Tony a choice as a child, he didn’t get to live normally, he was trailed by flashing camera’s and nosey journalists tugging at his arm to answer questions. His whole life had been picked apart by vultures and he never knew anything else, when Peter was older he would be capable of deciding whether he wanted people to know he was related to Tony Stark, but for now he seemed content clinging onto his Father and playing with cufflinks. ‘Just you for now, we can keep it that way for as long as possible and then I’ll figure out who I trust enough with the information.’ Pepper nodded and typed something into her phone.

 

‘Will he stay in Malibu with you?’

 

‘I don’t see why not, I’ll have to order things for him and get a cot, food, clothing and other necessities, but there isn’t anywhere else he can logically be.’

 

‘This is a long-term thing, once you sign those papers he’s legally your responsibility, for at least eighteen years Tony, it’s a big deal.’ He nodded, shifting Peter so his head rested in the crook of his elbow and legs reclined in his lap.

 

‘I know Pepper, trust me, I’m committed to this now. This kid is – he’s going to change everything.’ She looked at him unsurely, ‘look, I know I’ve been… not the best to deal with for awhile now, but I’m willing to put everything I have into this, Peter is my son. You get how much I try not to act like Howard?’ She nodded, ‘well this is just the real thing then, I’m starting with the drinking, okay I swear, I’m stopping with the parties.’ It was an unconvincing promise, but he was intending on keeping it, because the idea of being distant and uncaring for the precious thing cradled in his lap right now made his heart clench painfully. ‘This is… a big ask, for you to keep this under wraps, but it’s going to help with other stuff too, I’ll have more time in the labs, I won’t keep going out at night and you aren’t going to keep having to show random women the door in the morning.’

 

‘You don’t need to convince me Tony, I know you’re not going to be a terrible parent, I’m just making sure you know how permanent this is.’

 

‘I know, I understand Pep, I promise.’ Her phone rang, and she nodded and flicked a hand at the door mouthing ‘legal team’s here,’ at him dramatically. Peter crooned softly from his lap and tugged at his finger, pulling it towards his head. ‘What’s up?’ He asked, letting the boy guide his hand around loosely while he whined high in his throat.

 

‘Toh,’ he mewed and continued to pull his hand relentlessly. ‘Ney,’ he finished, the genius found his hand being placed on Peter’s hair and then tapped encouragingly before little fingers wrapped around his wrist again.

 

‘Okay,’ he sighed gladly and massaged small circles into the child’s scalp while Peter’s eyes fluttered shut. The door opened, and he turned to greet the legal team but instead saw Katherine holding the file which was now considerably more stuffed. ‘How long does this take exactly?’

 

‘A few hours, but we still require a home inspection, so we put the documents away on file after that.’ She walked past him and Pepper, typing more on her computer and organising papers from the folder neatly until the legal team arrived. Thankfully, because they did their job, Tony didn’t have to sit through hours of discussion, all he needed to do was sign several documents and keep Peter entertained, which was easy considering how calm he was with the physical contact he provided. ‘One more, just here,’ Katherine tapped a blank spot on the page with her acrylic nails. ‘It’s to say you consent to someone coming and checking your place of residence and ensuring it’s suitable for a child.’ Before he could sign, one of his legal people held up a hand and interrupted.

 

‘And with that, Miss Reys, we need some sort of guarantee to say that the address will be kept confidential.’ Katherine looked just about finished with the legality of it all, especially with Tony’s team hammering her every step of the way and making sure everything was private, kept away from the press and general public. It took more signatures on everyone’s part, but if it meant that Peter wasn’t going to grow up harassed by reporters, he was fine.

 

‘Once that’s signed you can go, thank you, I can assure Mary Fitzpatrick will not be involved in anything more regarding Peter, and everything that has happened will stay confidential.’ The legal team had the patience to exchange handshakes, as did Pepper, but Tony was already out the door and heading to the elevators with Peter nestled comfortably in his arms. They took the back exit of the hospital, but by that point it was early evening and not many people were around to see anything anyway.

 

‘Are you okay flying back tonight, or do you want me to get you a hotel?’ Pepper shook her head and just followed him to the car, directing the driver to where the jet was still landed.

 

‘I’m fine, are you okay with everything?’ He paused before answering, looking down at Peter who at some point had nudged his feet between the material of Tony’s suit jacket and shirt, and was lazily sucking on the end of his tie, half asleep and turned into the feel of the hand which hadn’t been moved from his hair. He took in the image for a moment, feeling the warmth tingling in his chest again, relishing in the knowledge that this thing in his lap, was his child, his son.

 

‘I am Pepper, I’m happy.’ For once in his life, Tony really was genuinely happy.

 

‘Did you change his name or remove Mary’s last name?’ She asked when they were settled in their seats.

 

‘Yes, his full name is Peter Benjamin Stark now, he has my last name but kept the middle name Mary chose.’ Pepper nodded, and Tony shuffled the boy further into his lap, so his head was supported on his elbow. ‘Can you hand me a device, I want to order things for him sooner rather than later.’ Rather than resting it on his lap, he leaned the computer on the arm rest so that Peter wasn’t disturbed. Tony spent the flight ordering anything he could think a baby would need and researching things he was curious about. ‘Peter’s not even five months yet and he can already say some half-words, they don’t normally speak for a few more months.’

 

‘If what you said about Mary is true, he’s most likely going to have the smart gene, like you.’ Pepper was being nice, but he hadn’t thought about that, he also hadn’t thought about Peter inheriting other traits from him.

 

‘What if he’s like me in other ways too?’ Pepper looked up from where she was reading something, and her eyes darted between the two.

 

‘Then you either teach him to not be that way, or you encourage whatever the behaviour is. That’s one of the big things with parenting, you need to decide what’s good and what’s bad, then teach it to your kid.’ Peter rolled onto his side, keeping Tony’s tie in his mouth and stretching up into the hand in his hair. ‘From what I saw through the window, it seemed like he reacted well to you almost immediately. He already knows how to say your name, or kind of at least.’

 

‘Yeah, he knows his own name really well and made sounds that were like half-words, but that woman was right, he’s very responsive for his age.’ If he grew up to be smart, he could join Tony in the lab and talk about similar things, but it wouldn’t bother him if the boy wasn’t interested in the same things. He wanted it to be Peter’s life, and he would be proud of anything the kid did, he wasn’t going to let him grow up starved of attention and feeling like he could never make his Dad happy. That situation was all too familiar for the older Stark. ‘I’ve ordered everything, express so it’ll all start to arrive by tomorrow,’ he glanced at his watch, checking to see if it was tomorrow yet. Luckily it wasn’t, because spending his first day as a parent wouldn’t start by keeping a baby up past midnight. Against his ribcage he could feel Peter’s chest rising and falling, the feeling of his warm breath blowing the fabric of his shirt into his skin.

 

‘You know that just because he’s asleep now and has been quiet all day, doesn’t mean he’ll stay like that forever.’ He raised an eyebrow in question, ‘at some point, he’s going to start crying or screaming, it comes along with diapers, teething, getting hungry, all the dirty work.’

 

‘I know that normally people have trouble working with a kid and getting enough sleep, but I feel like it won’t be much of an issue, what with how often I actually go to bed at a reasonable hour.’ Truthfully, it was more a case of how often he just didn’t sleep for days at a time.

 

‘Maybe, but you need to make sure you aren’t just down in the labs while Peter’s in the penthouse crying for hours.’ That wouldn’t be an issue for him, either the kid would be with him, or he was less than a room away. He was not Howard, he would not sit at the bar and down shot after shot while his child wailed from a cot he couldn’t get out of. Tony was not Howard.

 

‘I’m not,’ he said, staring out the plane’s window at the edge of the wing before it dissolved into the black of the night. ‘I mean, I won’t. I won’t do that to him Pep.’ He heard her phone being placed on a table and material moving as if she were repositioning herself, he pulled Peter closer to his chest and when he looked up she had crossed her legs.

 

‘You can’t become hyper focused on…’ she fiddled with the different ways of saying ‘your daddy issues’ before settling on something vague. ‘You can’t obsess over your own insecurities Tony. Judging by how you’ve already sworn off drinking and partying, things couldn’t be going better in this situation right now.’ He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before dropping his hand back down to Peter’s curls and picking the circular motions back up.

 

‘I know, I’m just trying to – trying not to screw it all up.’ She peered at him from across the aisle.

 

‘Screw what up? What is ‘it’ specifically?’ She was making him voice everything out loud, he supposed he at least owed her that much based on how much she had already helped.

 

‘Screw him up. Ruin Peter. Raise another Tony Stark. Be another Howard. Take you pick because I’m avoiding them all because they scare the hell out of me and I can’t – I won’t do that.’ Pepper seemed genuinely taken aback by the fact that he actually said what he was thinking when she asked, but he guessed if change was happening it had to start somewhere.

 

‘You won’t, I trust that,’ he sniffed and turned back to face out the window. ‘If you’re going through with everything you’ve said so far, maybe raising another Tony wouldn’t be such a bad thing.’ The sound of her phone being picked up followed by tapping of the keypad. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Peter’s forehead and tucked it behind his ear, then stayed seated for the rest of the flight and thought about how much he had to actually change.

 

‘I should tell Happy,’ he said dumbly as the wheels touched the tarmac and the blurred lights rushed past the dark window.

 

‘If you want to, but he is picking us up, so you have to decide now.’ Peter had barely moved during the rest of the flight, and if he hadn’t read up about it there would be the familiar squeeze of worry at his throat. ‘Ready when you are,’ she smiled reassuringly and nodded towards the now open door. He stood slowly, readjusting his hold on the boy so he was confident there was no way he could fall, and then stepped down the stairs and bathed in the bleak darkness of the runway.

 

‘Car’s over here boss,’ he turned to face Happy, wincing when he realised that Peter’s small form was now completely visible to the driver. ‘Am I gonna need to get a booster seat?’ He asked humouredly, quirking an eyebrow and shooting him a serious look.

 

‘Happy, this is Peter. This is why I was in New York, this will be why you end up getting a raise based on how you handle it.’ He grinned right back, relieved to be back on familiar ground. ‘Mary Fitzpatrick, smart brunette from over a year ago?’ Happy took a moment to recall before recognition crossed his face.

 

‘The scientist, the one you left the party early for, the same one you took upstairs and… oh, oh Tony really? And she – pregnant?’ He nodded along with the pieces that seemed to fall into place within his head. ‘So, nine months, then what? Why now? How come I’m only seeing him now?’

 

‘Mary couldn’t, not with her work – it was too important, and I guess the four months she tried to make it work proved too difficult. I got a call from a hospital in Queens not that long ago and it took awhile for the DNA results to come back and then all of today getting paper work sorted, so…’ He scuffed the bottom of his shoe against the asphalt and popped his tongue, awkwardly trying to force the words out. ‘So, this is Peter, my son.’ Happy looked disgruntled but other than that he shrugged it off and Tony was immensely glad that it wasn’t going to be made a big deal of.

 

‘Should I really get a booster seat then?’ He huffed a laugh and shook his head, mocking the same way Katherine had exasperatedly done the same.

 

‘I’ve got everything sorted, all you need to do is keep it on the down-low, only you, Pep and me okay? Absolutely no press involved.’ Happy was familiar with doing that sort of thing, he often had to get Tony places that the press couldn’t get a whiff of, it was a common occurrence because some days the mechanic would just climb into the car, list off the location and mutter something about ‘no press, totally hungover.’

 

‘Got it. Home then?’ Tony nodded and settled into the seat, silently hoping Peter stayed asleep for the drive. A few times he noticed Happy’s eyes in he mirror looking to the hand buried in the child’s hair, but he didn’t still the movement for a moment. The drive wasn’t long, it felt shorter than normal in reality, and so when they pulled up the dark lashes still rested against Peter’s cheeks below closed lids he didn’t stir as Tony got out of the car and walked inside. Happy took Pepper off to where she would rest and nurse the ball of frustrating stress which made today. He stood in the middle of the lobby and looked down at Peter.

 

‘What am I doing with you now, hm?’ He figured he would wake soon and guessed that food was a smart option given the fact that the child hadn’t eaten in front of Tony that day yet. ‘Mushy, something mushy is what you eat isn’t it?’ He searched the kitchen until he decided on bananas being the safest bet, still opting to squish them into a form of paste with the back of a fork. Peter was still fast asleep by the time he finished, the child was still pressed between Tony’s suit jacket and shirt, so he found a throw that was draped over the back of a couch and wrapped the boy up in it, hoping it was more comfortable. ‘You sleep a lot for a baby, or at least I think you do.’

 

It was another twenty odd minutes before Peter roused, and Tony had begun to wonder whether he should just wake the kid on his own. His nose scrunched first, then his foot kicked from under the throw like it had in the cot at the hospital, then his eyelashes were fluttering, and Tony was staring into the large, hazel eyes that looked so much like his own. Peter blinked rapidly and then smiled back up at him, cheeks tinting a rosy shade as he began to giggle quietly.

 

‘Toh,’ he tittered happily. The boy unfurled his hands and wiggled them wildly in the air under Tony’s chin. ‘Ney!’ Peter cried through a large smile, as if he were proud of himself for managing to say Tony’s name, or mostly say it.

 

‘Hey,’ the mechanic cooed, pulling off his tie and throwing it aside so it didn’t dangle in Peter’s face intrusively. ‘You slept through the whole plane ride kid,’ he got a noisy, gleeful laugh in response. ‘Wanna eat something now?’ The small, flailing hands found a button on Tony’s shirt and twisted it around in circles delightedly.

 

‘Eh teh!’ Peter squealed from his lap.

 

‘Eat?’ Tony repeated curiously, watching the boy’s small nose wrinkle for a moment before testing out the word again.

 

‘Eht,’ although the noise sounded more like ‘it’ than ‘eat,’ Tony took it as a win and grinned widely at the child, reaching for the bowl of mushed banana and pulling it closer to the edge of the bench.

 

‘Yeah, eat, good job Pete,’ he praised softly, moving his little body so his back rested against Tony’s stomach in a sitting position. He guided a small spoonful towards the boy and hoped he would take it easily.

 

‘Peter,’ he parroted, annunciating the word perfectly as if he had a hundred times before. He reached out an unsteady hand and grasped for the spoon helpfully, but Tony weaved around him and danced a finger over his cheek carefully.

 

‘Open,’ he urged, gently tapping the edge of the spoon against Peter’s lips coaxingly. To Tony’s relief, the boy immediately responded by parting his lips and darting his tongue out quickly, all with the smile still on his face. ‘There you go,’ he said approvingly, guiding more of the mush for Peter to eat, carefully moving away the small hands which still made grabby motions for the spoon. It didn’t take as much time for him to finish the bowl as Tony expected, but he was surprised by how little fuss Peter had made. From what he had read, it was common for children to throw tantrums over eating what they were offered.

 

‘Toh Ney?’ He put the bowl on the counter and turned Peter around in his lap, so they faced each other. He had stilled his grabby hands, but now clutched to Tony’s shirt sleeve and wrist with oddly comforting conviction.

 

‘What’s the matter?’ He whined high in his throat and tapped the wrist urgently, beginning to wriggle around. ‘You want to eat more?’ He didn’t get a response, just more wild squirming, ‘wow, hey don’t move too much or you’ll fall, okay?’ He used his free hand to cup Peter’s back and block him in so there was no way he could scoot off the back of his lap.

 

‘Toh Neeeey!’ Peter leaned forward and stuck the cuff of Tony’s sleeve into his mouth, sucking it lazily while continuing to writhe around.

 

‘Why are you moving so much kid?’ The movements didn’t still, ‘what do babies do? You eat, sleep, oh…’ He tilted Peter’s chin up gently and looked down at him seriously, ‘hey, are you wiggling ‘round because you’ve gone toilet, or you need to?’ The doe eyes blinked at him several times in answer, but Tony was sure he had guessed correctly. He had never changed a diaper before, he didn’t own diapers for obvious reasons, so he texted Happy to pick some up on the way to drop Pepper off. ‘I know Pete, don’t worry I’ll get you out of that soon okay?’

 

‘Peter,’ the kid was confident enough in saying his own name, and he seemed to pick up Tony’s quickly enough. His large eyes were looking around the space curiously, peering behind himself and up at all the things above him.

 

‘Wanna keep looking at stuff while I wait for diapers?’ Tony asked, already standing up and holding Peter so he could see easily.

 

‘Ah,’ he demanded excitedly, batting his eyes and turning to see everything new.

 

‘Grand tour it is I guess,’ Tony held Peter in such a way that he could easily crane his neck forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, which is exactly what he did do. By the time he had worked his way down to the workshop, Happy had texted him saying the box was left by the front door. ‘You still need a change kid, time to head upstairs again.’ He overlooked how wide Peter’s eyes grew when he saw all the machinery and projects that laid around Tony’s workspace, instead opting to twist the boy around and smile at him while he was carried back to the foyer.

 

The box by the front door had large zip ties attached so he didn’t need to put Peter down to lift it inside, just merely carried it by two fingers and kept the boy rested against his hip securely. ‘Alright, I’ve never done this before so… let’s get you to the bathroom so you can get cleaned up and grab a fresh diaper, that sound good?’

 

‘Baf,’ Peter shrieked, dropping the sleeve from his mouth and reaching out in all directions. Tony assumed ‘baf’ meant ‘bath,’ so he guessed the child knew about them. The excitement only increased when he stepped into the bathroom and gestured to the tub. The mechanic started up the taps while he began the arduous task of removing Peter’s diaper and cleaning him with wipes. Luckily, the water level hadn’t risen very high by the time he was done, because the taps were set to practically a drip. He leant over the tub and let the child watch the water rippling. ‘Bub,’ he said curiously, and Tony looked at him just as confused. ‘Bub,’ he repeated, staring back at him and waiting for an answer before trying harder to get his point across. ‘Bub… ills,’ he said, more determined.

 

‘Are you saying bubbles?’ Tony asked, looking at the plain water.

 

‘Bub ills,’ he tried again, pointing a hand to the tub.

 

‘Okay, I’ll see what I can find,’ he ended up pouring shampoo under the tap and frothing it about until bubbles formed over the surface of the water. ‘Is that good?’ Peter’s smile broadened, and Tony scooped up some foam on a finger and let him gawk at it from his lap. When he was comfortable enough with the water level, he sat on his knees and rested his chest against the side of the tub, letting Peter’s feet dangle and kick the surface. His giggles increased the more he was lowered into the water and when he was sitting with the water up to his stomach, surrounded by bubbles, Tony smiled and ruffled his hair fondly. ‘Good?’ Peter beamed up at him and pushed the water around with his free hand.

 

He stayed in the bath until the tips of his fingers were wrinkled and Tony’s chest had a line from where he leant against the tub. When the child was dressed again, and a towel had been rubbed over his damp hair, he carried the boy down to the workshop and draped his small form in blankets. After the soft fabric had been wrapped around him, Peter shook his arms free and whined until Tony lifted him high enough to curl them around his neck and rest there. The mechanic let Peter nestle his face into his neck and cuddle up close while he began to tinker uninterestedly, his mind was too alive with the choices he had already made today. Tony had chosen to be a Father, he had sworn off alcohol, not to mention promised to protect a human for the rest of his life. The looming idea that at any moment he could do something too akin to Howard hung over his head and soured the warm feeling inside his chest. ‘You get some more sleep Peter, it’s been a long day kiddo,’ he pressed another kiss into his hairline and rested his cheek against his back, smiling when he felt the small hands around the back of his neck squeeze in response.

 

It only took another hour and a half for Peter to fall asleep, and by that point it was so early in the morning that it was Tony’s bedtime too, or it least it was before he realised having a healthy sleep schedule would probably benefit the kid. His kid, he reminded himself. Peter was his kid. The cot hadn’t arrived, everything he ordered was due to show up starting tomorrow, so he took the sleeping boy up to his own room and laid down, stomach-up on his bed, watching the dozing child resting on his chest, cheek pressed over his heart. ‘Night kiddo,’ he whispered, placing his lips onto the small forehead and closing his own eyes.

 

\----

 

“Hey, Tony?” He snapped his eyes open, immediately looking down to Peter, who was still curled up on the couch, resting against his own front and using him as a pillow. The teen was still asleep, dark eyelashes low and breath coming out slowly as his chest rose and fell far more easily than it had days ago. “Tony?” He pulled his attention from his son and leant his head back to see Steve standing by the door. “Sorry if you were asleep then.”

 

“No, it’s okay, I was just thinking, not really sleeping.” He blearily rubbed his eyes with a fist that wasn’t embedded in Peter’s curls. “What’s up Capsicle?” The man looked down unsurely at the unmoving boy leaning against Tony.

 

“Is he asleep?” He bent his chin down and double checked before nodding, “just checking, I moved all the files and pictures that were sent to us of – of him… and, uh, yeah I just put them on a separate stick so if we need them they’re there but not just sitting out in the open.” He hadn’t even thought about if Peter had seen those, or how he’d react if he logged into the computer and they popped up, he was glad Steve had thought of it first.

 

“Oh, that’s really helpful, thanks.” He got lost in the movement of massaging Peter’s scalp for a moment, before looking back up. “You need anything else? Lunch was really good by the way, not just the food I mean.”

 

“It went good, yeah. No, I didn’t need anything, just came to let you know about the files.” They just stared into the distance for a moment, Steve looking out the window. “It’s gonna rain soon, we should have a movie night when the kid’s allowed.” Tony huffed a laugh.

 

“Wow Cap, have we really sunk so low that you’re making polite weather small talk with me?” He received an eye roll and a smile as a response. “Yeah, we should do a movie night, sounds good.”

 

“Alright, I’ll leave you be now, don’t forget to get some sleep yourself.” He mock saluted as Steve left the room and pulled a final eye roll from the man successfully. He turned his attention back to Peter and smiled at the peaceful expression printed across his face.

 

“I’ll get some sleep too, for Cap’s sake huh? I’m stayin’ right here with you buddy.” He closed his eyes and took some time to fall asleep, but he got there in the end, and Peter didn’t stir for a moment on his chest.

 

Steve was right about the rain, it floated over the Tower in gentle waves only an hour or so after Tony finally fell asleep. Far below on the concrete outside, the water pooled together and created silvery puddles which pedestrians and taxis splashed through without another thought. At first, it came spilling down from the flat, grey skies softly, only pattering against the windows of the lounge the Stark’s slept in silently, not heard by either of them. Soon though, after another hour of quiet, the intensity picked up and the rain fell in chaotic droplets, bustling wind carrying them with impetuous force. They splattered against the window in diagonal sheets and fell as if the sole purpose was to smudge the skyline and it’s lights like an impressionist painting. The sound of the drops contacting the glass grew, until it was piercingly audible, even in sleep, to the teen with enhanced hearing.

 

Peter’s face screwed, and he whimpered softly, his fingers tightening around Tony’s shirt desperately and his whimpers grew to sobs. His lips trembled dangerously and his whole body began to vibrate from instinctual fear. The rain didn’t respond to the boy’s mumbled cries, it continued to pound away against the window and chip away at the blanket feeling of ‘safe.’

 

“No… ‘s cold, s’ cold – h – hur’s… please…” He sobbed more, tears finally beginning to fall while his body racked along with the movement of his unconscious terror. Because in his mind, the rain wasn’t rain, the glass wasn’t glass, and all he was hearing was the sound of the sprinklers splashing down against the tiles in his cell, occasionally falling onto the collar of metal that still wrapped around his neck tightly. “Please, s’ too cold, m’ too tired, s’ cold… cold… please…” he sniffled and gripped his fingers so taught that the material of his Dad’s shirt stretched awkwardly in his balled fists.

 

“Mm… Pete?” Tony was barely rousing from his sleep, voice still coated from it and eyes feeling glued shut.

 

“Hur’s, s’ cold, cold… nonono please…” It took Peter’s mind a minute to catch up, then what had been burnt into his mind for almost three weeks came snapping back to the forefront of his consciousness and he was forcing his eyes open to avoid the harsh spray and falling back from the couch, off his Dad’s lap and onto the floor. His still clouded head couldn’t process the soft carpet and it instinctively melted away and was made to feel like tile under his hands. “No!” He screamed into the dark of the living room, his brain wired horribly to hear the phantom screeches of the speakers, the seizure-inducing intensity of the lights and the feeling of that icy metal locked up against his throat, squeezing into him and holding him off the ground for so many brutal nights.

 

The wail followed by hysterical sobs from his child tore Tony to wakefulness and he ripped open his eyes and jolted up, pure terror shooting through him when he wasn’t met with the familiar warmth and weight of his son. His eyes hadn’t adjusted to the darkness that crept into the room during his sleep, and the same emotions he had endured for those three weeks filled with sleepless nights and the knowledge that Peter was being hurt, tortured, broken, they all flooded back.

 

“Peter! Baby, no, no, where are you?” He gasped, reaching around the couch blindly as if the boy would suddenly appear much like the remote usually did after it was lost. “No, baby please, come on! Peter? Peter!”

 

Meanwhile, the teen hunched on the ground was thrashing violently against imaginary chains that looped around him and cut harsh bruising across his pale body. He made a choking noise, fingers scrabbling to his neck through the constant, raging sobs, trying to rip away the metal band that wasn’t there. He screamed again, the noise hoarse and jarring, when he was unable to break away from the sensation of the cruel restraints and battering, icy showers.

 

“Oh god!” Tony cried, throwing himself off the couch and lunging toward the nightmarish sounds that Peter was making with his still injured throat. “Peter!” He pulled the boy into his arms and laid his own legs over Peter’s, which were kicking out and trying to gain traction as if his feet were still barely able to graze the floor while his body was supported fully and completely by the band around his neck. He reached his arms out and gripped his kid’s wrists, pulling them away from where he was digging nails into his own throat and chin, fiercely trying to eradicate the feeling of suffocation. “Stop it, you need to stop!” A cracked wail filled the room and Peter heaved again, hallucinating and finding himself unable to repress the feeling of everything he already had felt for the past three weeks.

 

Tony needed to find an anchor for his child to focus on immediately, to ground him and keep him tethered to reality through the panic attack. His mind danced and sorted through rapid-fire options until he settled on the most obvious. The rain. Peter had always loved rain, it had always enraptured him as a baby and he pleaded to run around outside as a toddler and young child, not even faltering at the strikes of thunder and lightning like most children did. Even as a teenager, Peter relished in getting to walk to school through the rain, tumbling through a window and whipping off his dripping mask with an ear-splitting grin and babbling excitedly about being able to patrol through a rainfall.

 

The rain it was. He twisted the struggling boy around and laid a hand over his heart, pulling one of Peter’s up to his own pulse point and forcing himself to breathe easy. “Hey, hey! You feel that, you need to focus on this, focus on my heartbeat okay baby?” He could feel the teens fingers tremoring against him and he brought a spare hand up behind Peter’s head and eased him forward, so their foreheads rested together. “Feel that? Good, there you go. Breathe with me, breathe… breathe… breathe…” He waited until the struggling had subsided before saying anything other than ‘breathe.’ Tony didn’t think about what he had expected, but it was something positive, rain had always been a calming influencer for the youngest Stark. Therefore, when the mechanic rubbed circles over Peter’s wrist and murmured encouragingly, “there, yeah, there you go, breathe… now focus on the sound, hear the rain? Against the windows? You love the rain, concentrate on that now,” he had been stunned with Peter’s reaction.

 

“No!” He screamed again, wrenching his entire body away from his Dad’s comforting hold and scurrying back so forcibly that he probably would have put a hole in the wall by slamming into it if he hadn’t careened into something else first. Well, technically someone else.

 

“Tony?” He barely had time to recognise Steve’s concerned voice when the lights flicked on and Peter let out another agonising scream and threw his hands over his eyes forcefully. Even without sight, he stumbled blindly backward on the floor until his back hit the wall and then proceeded to furl into a ball, clutching himself to shrink down into the smallest possible position. “What –” the worried soldier began before taking in the terrified, quaking Peter alongside the absolutely gut wrenched and shook up Tony who sat a few feet away.

 

The Father heard a clang and looked to see Steve’s prototype shield being flung to the side as he dropped down on one knee and held a placating arm out towards Peter’s hunched form, slowly approaching him like a wounded animal.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y block all ambient sound from outside the Tower, now.” The A.I immediately obeyed Tony’s request, shutting out the sound of the rain which was usually only the cause of extra comfort and content. “Steve wait, he isn’t – he’s not really ‘here’ right now.” He needed to find something else to link Peter to the now, to real, but right now he was honestly petrified of choosing something that triggers him more and tips him over the edge to the point of hyperventilating or passing out.

 

“I’m sorry, I heard screaming and thought that –” He waved away his teammates concern and moved to crouch beside him.

 

“It’s fine Steve,” he looked to Peter and wanted so badly to reach out and comfort him, but was too scared of startling him any further, but alternatively he was also afraid of just leaving him to ride out the attack without any physical comfort. “Hey, hey kiddo. Peter I’m here, it’s me okay?” Another quiet whimper in response and Tony could feel his resolve beginning to crumble.

 

“Can I – what – how do I help here Tony?” Steve sounded more unsure of himself the longer the whole situation stretched out and the more time he got to see the small flakes of blood beading up under Peter’s nails.

 

“I don’t – I don’t know, it’s never been this bad before…” his voice was barely a whisper and luckily Steve didn’t have to strain to hear from how close he sat. “I don’t even know what set him off? God, I was sleeping for fuck’s sake,” his head dropped into his hands for a moment before he peeled them away and ran them through his hair stressfully. “Okay, okay, Peter?” He inched closer slowly, keeping a hand braced behind him to gesture for Steve to stay still. “Hey, baby I’m gonna let you hear my heartbeat again, it’ll be okay, it’s all right.” He slid further and further across the carpet until his fingers were hovering just above where Peter’s hands still clutched to his legs. “Hi, hey Petey, I need you to stay calm for me, I’m just gonna touch your shoulder now, kay?” He hesitated for the briefest of moments before leaning forward and laying a gentle hand over Peter’s sleeved shoulder, not pressing down at all, just lightly resting it there. The teen thankfully didn’t startle, just tensed slightly before loosening up a fraction. “Good job, there you go, it’s all okay now, you’re safe baby.”

 

Tony laid a second hand over one of Peter’s hands and moved it delicately up to rest over his heart. “Calm your breathing, match my heartbeat, breathe… in, out, breathe… in, hold it with me, there you go and out, keep doing it with me.” Steve watched while Tony exaggerated his own breaths and kept Peter’s hand plastered above his heart, coaxing him slowly through the process and eventually dropping his head so they bumped together lightly and stayed pressed against each other. “Keep breathing with me, you’re doing so well, I’m so proud of you,” he praised before continuing the instructions and breath counting with such guiding words that it felt like it must have been a known occurrence for the two.

 

Eventually, after what felt like hours but in reality, was much closer to quarter of an hour, Peter’s breathing evened out enough for him to unfurl and latch on to Tony shakily. “Hey, you did so good for me kiddo, you’re so brave,” he pressed his lips into Peter’s hair and eased out comforting words of affirmation and commendation. A few lone sniffles were muffled against Tony’s neck, but he shushed each of them lovingly, “shh, shh, it’s okay now, just keep breathing for me and nothing else is gonna happen.” Steve felt like he shouldn’t intrude on the moment any longer, but he worried that standing to leave would break the mild suppression of panic that Tony had managed to create.

 

“You need me to go?” He asked weakly, unsure of any movement whatsoever without some sort of approval from the experienced Father.

 

“Uh, yeah o – okay, thank you Steve, seriously.” Tony locked eyes with him quickly, taking them off Peter for a short while. “Seriously, I mean it, thank you.”

 

“It’s my job, call if you need,” he said in a lower voice, shuffling back to pick up his discarded shield and backing out the doorway privately. As soon as he retreated from view, Tony’s eyes darted back to his son. Peter was clung to him tightly, his face buried against his neck while a few jittering sobs still shook his frame. He sighed concernedly and turned around, so his back rested against the wall and he could wrap both arms around Peter carefully.

 

“You with me right now kiddo?” He received a shaky nod in response and pulled the boy even closer. “You’re okay, it’s alright,” he picked up one of Peter’s hands and touched it to his neck, avoiding the worst of the scratches and still fading bruises. “Feel that? Can you feel that Pete? That’s skin, just skin, there’s nothing else there okay?” The teen mumbled a quiet affirmation but pulled his arm back to wrap it around his Dad again. “Okay, shh, I’m here, it’s okay baby.” Tony clutched the back of Peter’s head and tucked his face further into the crook of his neck. They stayed locked in the embrace for a while, letting the boy calm down all the way before starting to talk.

 

“M’ sorry, m’ really sorry…” Peter whispered, still being cradled into Tony’s chest securely.

 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault,” he assured, kissing his head kindly, trying to calm him further. “What happened, did you have a nightmare?” He felt the smaller body tense against him and he backpedalled, thinking he wasn’t ready to talk about it yet. “Hey, no never mind kiddo, you don’t need to talk about it if you don’t wan –”

 

“No, I just – the noise… it was too much like – like the sprinklers… sounded the same.” He nestled his face deeper into the side of Tony’s neck and took some more deep breaths. “It sounds the same, and I – I think it just… set off too many memories and I could – I could feel the metal, I could feel it – it was all there Dad, and I just – I couldn’t – I couldn’t breathe again…” He started to tremble again, and Tony shushed him, beginning to rock back and forth against the wall slowly.

 

“No, no it’s okay, it’s gone now, no more rain – F.R.I’s blocking it out.” He curved his arm around the nape of Peter’s neck and took support of it, letting the boy fully slump in the hold. “Shh now, you don’t need to explain, I understand and it’s okay, it’s all okay.” He stayed in the same position, holding Peter tightly against himself and running fingers through his hair and up his back, for almost another hour they stayed there. Tony pulled back and tilted the teen’s chin up to survey the damage he scratched into his neck, there were angry lines but luckily only some of them had bled. “Let’s get you back to the Med Bay now, huh? I need to get Helen to check these out and get you something for the pain since you haven’t had any since this morning.

 

“N – no doctors right now… please, I don’t – m’ too exhausted to deal with them right now… sorry.” He lifted Peter to his feet and pressed a kiss to the side of his head while his voice shook. “Just wanna lie down…” he swayed on his feet and Tony took his hands carefully, pulling him back to his chest and taking some of his weight.

 

“Okay, I’ll get you into bed and disinfect the worst of those cuts, then you need to eat something and have more water.” He paused and looked down at Peter’s half-lidded eyes and sighed, “are you feeling lightheaded?”

 

“A little, m’ not gonna pass out or anything though,” he seemed to find his balance, but Tony kept a steadying arm around his side while they walked. He let Peter lean against his side in the elevator and they stood silently for the ride to the Med Bay. “I’m sorry I woke you up,” he said in a quiet voice, scuffing his feet against the floor and refusing to make eye contact.

 

“Peter,” he ran the pad of his thumb under the boy’s eye, wiping away the tear tracks. “Look at me for a second,” he smiled softly when the hazel eyes darted up to meet his. “It’s not your fault, don’t apologise,” he said seriously, moving his thumb aside in favour of cupping his cheek gently. “You never need to say sorry for having a panic attack, okay? Never.” Peter closed his eyes against the hand and leant into the touch.

 

“But you haven’t been sleeping…” He rested his forehead against his Dad’s shoulder and breathed out a shaky sigh. “You need to sleep, but I keep waking you up,” he felt his eyes prickling and the guilt ate away inside him. “M’ just really sorry,” he muttered, turning away and swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

“No, Pete, stop saying sorry.” Tony flipped the hood on Peter’s sweatshirt, using it to tug him closer and pull his head down against his chest. “I’ve been getting enough sleep, it’s okay, you’re the one who needs to rest more.” The doors opened, and he guided Peter out and down the hall to the Med Bay room. “You get into bed, I’m just finding some disinfectant,” he kept his arms out, hovering close enough behind to catch him if he fell. He fiddled with the bed settings so that Peter was sat up before he turned back to rifle through draws and find disinfectant. When he found the small bottle and some swabs to apply them with, he sat on the bed next to the boy and tilted his chin up with a light touch. “It might be a little cold, they shouldn’t be deep enough to sting but tell me if they do.” He slowly dabbed over the minor scratches and was careful to wipe away any of the dried blood. It didn’t take long, there weren’t many marks and Peter didn’t struggle, just sat quietly and looked at the ceiling. He winced once when Tony got to the deepest of the cuts, but other than that he didn’t make any motion.

 

“I love you Dad,” he said out of the blue, finally looking down from the roof and reaching his fingers out to hold Tony’s hand. The mechanic finished cleaning the wounds and put the bottle and swabs aside, squeezing the hand gently.

 

“I know, I love you too Pete.” He smiled sadly but still shuffled to let the teen rest against his chest. “They left food for you, I want you to eat some of the fruit and finish a cup of water, at least.” Peter did, it took him a little longer than usual, but he managed to get it down. “How bad is the pain?”

 

“It’s fine, I don’t need anything.” He knew the boy was downplaying the pain, so he didn’t have to get a doctor, but he figured the kid would tell him if anything hurt too much.

 

“Okay then, try to rest again, you look exhausted.” Peter mumbled something quietly but shuffled down to lay over his heartbeat again and let it lull him to sleep. After some time, Tony realised his breathing hadn’t slowed down like it normally did when he slept, so he lifted Peter’s chin and realised his eyes weren’t even shut. “Hey, whatcha doing kiddo?”

 

“Dad… I just – I – I can’t.” He sat up more and pulled Peter with him, hushing him mildly and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

 

“What’s the matter? What can’t you do?” Tears welled in the teens eyes and he sniffed quietly.

 

“Close my eyes, sleep… I can’t, I can’t,” he looked shattered, the bruises weren’t fading as fast as Tony would have liked, his eyes were rimmed red and underlined with dark bags. His fingers trembled along with his lower lip and he was intensely drained of most energy.

 

“You can’t, or you don’t want to?” Peter dropped the eye contact and chewed on the inside of his cheek nervously.

 

“I don’t want to… b – because I can’t keep doing this, th – the nightmares and the panic attacks. I can see it and I – I’m scaring you, I’m scaring me, Dad. I’m too terrified to even try and sleep because I don’t wanna see it all again, I can’t keep waking up like… like that.” He brushed a sleeve over his cheek and rubbed his nose tiredly, pitching forward and leaning into Tony.

 

“I know,” he whispered into the boy’s curls, letting him sink onto his chest lazily and throwing an arm over his shoulders. “I know because after New York I would put you to bed and then work in the labs till the next morning. I only went to bed if somebody forced me too, or if I practically passed out. Peter you can’t do that too, it’s unhealthy, but I get that you’re scared okay, you have every right to be.” Tony started to run his fingers through the golden-brown hair slowly, “Reliving shit in your dreams is horrible, but you need to sleep, you need to at least try. I’m staying here, and I’ll be there if you wake up, you gotta try kiddo, don’t say you can’t.”

 

“I’m just so tired of seeing their faces…” Peter hid his face by Tony’s shoulder and slumped, giving up on trying to hold his own weight. “It’s always so real and I – I think I’m back there when I wake up, I’m so on edge all the time, it’s exhausting.”

 

“I know baby, it gets better I swear, it just takes time.” Peter knew all of that, he had seen Tony go through the exact same thing after Afghanistan and the attack on New York, but the truth was his Dad was never really the same again, and that’s what scared him the most. The thought of being changed permanently by what he had been through made him feel sick, like he had been broken and the cracks would never truly fade.

 

“I don’t want to be like this, I don’t want to wait, I just want to go back to before everything… I should’ve told you that I loved you that morning.” He looked away sadly, trying to bite back the tears he could feel burning behind his closed eyes.

 

“I should have just driven you to school myself, or found you sooner, I should have been better, but I wasn’t, and I reminded myself every day I saw you lying in that bed, hooked up to all these machines. It kills me Peter, knowing you were being hurt and I couldn’t do anything about it, but I’m still here. It hurts, it really fucking hurts to see you like this, but we’re getting through it okay, bit by bit. I don’t care how long this takes us to work through, I’m with you, I’m with you okay baby?” He reached out and laid a hand over Peter’s pulse point. “You feel that, you’re here, you’re breathing and you’re alive. They didn’t break you, alright? You’re gonna be okay Peter.”

 

“I don’t even know if this is ever going away,” he touched his chest gingerly, poking at his carved arc reactor. “A – and if it doesn’t go away… it’s staying there forever like he wanted it to. Okay? I can’t – I won’t be able to deal with that Dad, I won’t be able to look at that every morning, it’s not – it’s not okay.” Tony pushed away the hand Peter was holding against his chest and looked at him intently.

 

“It’ll go away, if not on its own then I’ll get something that makes it fade. Medicine is advancing now, and you can’t worry about that because I won’t let you. Don’t focus on that right now, I swear it will go away. You need to think about your sleep because I’m not letting you do what I did, I’m gonna be here through every nightmare and every panic attack.” He reached out and pushed the button that lowered the bed, so they were lying almost horizontal. “I’m giving you tonight, because you slept for long enough this afternoon, but tomorrow onwards you’re sleeping minimum seven hours a day. I’ll stay with you for all of them okay? That’s a good deal, you happy?”

 

“Can’t say I’m happy about it but I’ll manage if you’re there.” They shook, and Tony lifted his hand when the grip dropped to stroke Peter’s cheek. “M’ gonna need more coffee,” the teen mumbled.

 

“You have never, and probably will never, need coffee. Kiddo your metabolism is fast enough as it is so there isn’t any point” Tony argued,

 

“Placebo effect,” he shot back with a small smile. The finger on his cheek moved up into his hair and he sighed happily, arching his neck back against his Dad’s shoulder and focusing on the feeling. “Hey Dad?”

 

“Yeah?” He tilted his head too look down at Peter.

 

“Since I’m not sleeping tonight, and I’ve been saving this for… I don’t know I – I guess I was waiting till you had a bad night or something… but, I wanna just show you now.”

 

“Okay… what is it?” Peter grinned widely and propped himself up on an elbow, looking at the far wall curiously.

 

“Can I – uh, is there a T.V in here?” Tony nodded and reached over beside the bed to press a button so the shelf on the wall split in two and spread apart, revealing a moderately sized screen. Peter was practically vibrating with exited energy and tapping his Dad’s hand eagerly, gearing up for what he had been yearning too for what felt like too long.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y? Play all Captain America PSA’s for us.”


	12. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony finally gets to talk to the people who hurt his son, and Peter is healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah! This story was so much fun to write and I'm torn that it's over because this was my first fic, but also now I have time for so many other ones I want to write.
> 
> I'm so happy that from the comments you guys have been saying you like it and I'm pleased I could make some of your days better.
> 
> Please enjoy! Leave comments if you like it, <3

Over the course of the next two weeks, Peter had a lot of nightmares. On most nights that he had them, it was hard to get back to sleep so he could get all seven hours his Dad wanted. Napping helped, with getting a full seven hours, not the nightmares, those were inescapable.

 

“It’s every day for the past two weeks, and you don’t know until it’s already happening. Even when you wake me up I still…” Peter sighed and rubbed his face frustratedly with the heel of his hands before continuing, “I – I still see everything again.” He looks worn, his black eyes have fully healed by now, but the dark bags still remain, so too does the haunted expression that Tony had for the years following Afghanistan. It hurts to see his child going through exactly what he did and not being able to make it go away.

 

“I know, trust me, I do. It gets better, after a while they start to fade, and it doesn’t feel as real, you just need to get through each one and then little by little, they go away. Okay? I swear kiddo, but you need to sleep, because the more you sleep the less…” He twirled his finger in the air and waited for the right word to come to him. “The less hyper realistic they are,” Peter frowned and quirked his head to show he wasn’t getting exactly what Tony meant. The mechanic pulled in a breath and shuffled on the couch, so he was facing the teen better. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before trying to translate them in a way that Peter would hopefully understand. “The more tired and overworked your head is, the more vivid the dreams are, because you aren’t functioning properly when you’re awake, I find, your dreams work harder to be grounded in reality. It doesn’t make much sense but that’s what I found when I finally started to get more sleep after… yeah after stuff, Afghanistan.”

 

“Okay, I do.” Peter dropped his head, so it leant against the crook of Tony’s neck and he could feel the pulse. “It’s just… draining,” as if to exemplify his point, the teen let his body sag, so his Dad took majority of his weight.

 

“I know, that’s why you sleep.” Peter rolled his eyes, as if it were that simple.

 

“If sleeping is what’s exhausting me, why should I sleep more?” It was Tony’s turn to sigh now, but he still reached his hand up to run a comforting hand through the mop of brunette curls.

 

“It’s not sleep that’s tiring, it’s the nightmares and adrenaline rushes when you wake up from them.” Peter closed his eyes against the touch and a small smile played at his lips as he relaxed into Tony’s side more.

 

“Yeah, m’kay,” he said lazily, drumming his fingers on his legs. “Did you talk to anyone yet?”

 

“Actually, I’m glad you asked,” he tapped Peter’s chin to signal for him to open his eyes and look up, which he did. “Natasha spoke to me yesterday to let me know that I can… go on the mission with them.” He hesitated, avoiding the words.

 

“Dad, you can just say it, I’m fine.” Tony scratched at the boy’s scalp and shook his head, even if he said he was fine, Peter didn’t like hearing Ryan’s name. He frowned, and the mechanic relented.

 

“Fine. Natasha said I can go and talk to the asshole.” He smiled for humours sake, but he couldn’t hide the anger that flashed in his eyes, especially not when he was still seeing the lingering effects that those three weeks had on his son.

 

“I’m not glass, I won’t break if you say his name.” Peter pouted, lifting his head from his Dad’s shoulder and glaring at him without much real heat.

 

“Maybe I don’t want to say it, maybe it pisses me off and I don’t want to give the fucker a name.” He felt a smaller hand gently touching his clenched fist, and he took a deep breath as an attempt to steady his rapidly increasing anger. After a moment that he spent collecting himself, he unfurled his hand and held the one Peter was offering, covering the small crescent indents he left in his own palm. “I’m sorry, you know I don’t mean to – to treat you like you’re damaged.”

 

“I know, I just don’t want you going over there and getting angrier,” his face scrunched for a moment, the small crinkles on his nose highlighting how deep in thought he was. “I don’t think he’s above provoking you, especially when he doesn’t have any leverage against you anymore.” Tony tensed, hating the notion of Peter being used as leverage against him.

 

“You weren’t leverage okay? He took you for you, because he’s messed up. Don’t think like that.” The suggestion that all those photo’s and audio files were to keep Tony in his place wasn’t right. They were a demonstration of the power Ryan had over him, how he had managed to take Tony Stark’s child, barely three blocks from home. “He was taunting, not using you to get something from me.”

 

“That’s exactly what he was doing. He wanted a reaction, he wanted to make you upset.” Tony closed his eyes and blew out the breath he had been holding before resting his chin on Peter’s head and inhaling again. Peter’s hair smelled like shampoo, not bloody and metallic like it had when he found him. He ran a hand up and down the side of his neck, focusing on how he could feel the even beat of the boy’s heart under his skin and move his fingers over his pulse point without disturbing the deep injuries that coated his throat. Most of his bruises were gone, only a few light shades of yellowish, green covered the area where the deepest had been. Peter’s back had fully healed, his ankle was better, all the internal issues were fixed. The only injuries that remained were the lingering, phantom pains in his ribs after a panic attack, the light and continually fading design on his chest, and the psychological trauma that would most likely remain an unseen scar for majority of his life, much like his father’s. Much like how most of the Avengers would have memories that never went away. “It worked, didn’t it?”

 

Tony looked down at Peter, wondering what the question meant. “I mean, he used me to make you upset, and it worked.” He didn’t respond, they had spoken about some of the things that Peter went through, but they hadn’t yet discussed how Tony dealt for those three weeks. “Dad?” He tugged at his sleeve. “Don’t think it wasn’t just as hard for you as it was for me.”

 

“That’s not true. You were tortured, I was sat at home, they aren’t the same.” His tone was harsher than he meant it to be, but it wasn’t directed at Peter. “You didn’t have anything, I was here –”

 

“I had hope.” Peter interrupted abruptly, his doe-eyes blinking determinedly. “I’m not stupid, I know you didn’t sleep, I know you went through, minimum, a year’s worth of coffee Dad.” He mimicked the way Tony had tapped his chin and when the mechanic turned to meet his eyes, they were filled with understanding. “I can see it in the way Steve and Rhodey keep telling you to drink more water and bring you food. You did the same thing that happened after Afghanistan and New York, it isn’t hard for me to work that out, considering how terrible you are at hiding how you’re feeling from me.”

 

“I was justified. It wasn’t an option to sit around waiting for a lead, I needed to be doing something, I had to – had to be working to find you, okay?” Peter wasn’t buying it, he was too stubborn to just accept that fact. “You know how you keep complaining that you don’t want to sleep, because what you see is too real?”

 

“Yeah, what does this have to do with –”

 

“The few times I tried to sleep, when I woke up, you were still gone. You were still missing, and it felt like I was living a fucking nightmare, okay? It was messed up Peter, and I couldn’t – I just couldn’t… couldn’t function, knowing what was happening to you.” The teen blinked, closed his mouth and looked at his lap.

 

“Did you have…” Peter trailed off, but Tony clicked on to what he was trying to ask. He wanted to know if he had more panic attacks.

 

“Several. Especially… especially after the warehouse, and the audio of the tube. Those were the worst.” He wasn’t lying, the week leading up to them finding the warehouse, before he saw any picture, video or audio of Peter, was purely the unknown. His mind filled the blanks and skipped straight to worse cause scenario, especially his dreams. When he saw those photos scattered around the warehouse, it was like everything had been confirmed, his son was being tortured and he didn’t have a single lead. The tube was just hard in general, the sounds, the screaming, the way Peter was begging for him, the way he was being cooed over and called adoring names by the sadist who was hurting him, everything built up and Tony couldn’t handle it. Almost like he snapped, he sort of just went numb, floating around the house, tears constantly staining his cheeks, poking at his food but rarely eating, lying motionless in bed for hours but never sleeping.

 

He looked to Peter, who’s head was hung and a self-loathing expression on his face. “You know, it’s almost ironic,” he began, watching to see if he could wipe away the guilt painted across the boy’s face. “How what hurt the most, the photo’s and stuff, was what ended up giving us the location.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Peter whispered softly, keeping his head down. “Most of the time I wasn’t even… I wasn’t conscious enough to realise he was taking photos or recording. If I knew, I would’ve tried not to –”

 

“That’s what you did in the video with the newspaper. You smiled, you called me Mister Stark.” He nodded slowly, remembering the man standing behind the camera, dragging a nail across his head in warning, threatening to cut into his skull if he didn’t comply.

 

“Yeah, I – I tried to.” He tucked his chin to his chest and mumbled, “probably didn’t look all that convincing though.”

 

“I didn’t care that it was very poor acting,” Tony nudged his shoulder and Peter huffed a dry laugh. “I was more focused on how proud you made me.” The boy looked up from his lap, curiosity peeking his interest. “You went through… you had some really fucked up stuff happening to you, but you still put on a brave face. You called me Mister Stark and you smiled at the camera, because you knew I was watching,” he lifted Peter’s chin with a gentle finger, looking directly into his hazel eyes fondly. “Watching that video, I had never been prouder of you in my life.” The boy smiled softly, curling his hand into Tony’s and murmuring a quiet thank you.

 

“I tried,” he responded lightly. They sat silently for a short time before Peter nuzzled closer and closed his eyes as he turned into his Dad’s chest. “M’ hungry,” he mumbled after another period of quiet.

 

“I’ll tell you what, if you promise to sleep two more hours today, I’ll order pizza.” Peter grinned and nodded his head, looking forward to the normality of spending the evening lounged out in the living room with an empty takeaways box and his Dad lying next to him. “Good, you need both sleep and greasy food,” Tony said, wrapping his thumb and index finger around Peter’s slender wrist. “F.R.I, if I say pizza, you know what to do right?”

 

“Ordering the usual Sir,” the A.I responded, chiming when the order was made and again when half an hour later the food arrived. Peter’s appetite had grown back to normal, and while his Dad had three slices, he ate a pizza and a half. It took him almost an hour to fall asleep, but when he did, Tony slid off the couch and moved to the doorway, staying close enough to the boy so he could see if he was in distress. Once F.R.I.D.A.Y had notified Natasha that he wanted to speak to her, the elevator pinged, and she stepped out, keeping her walk silent when she took note of the sleeping teen.

 

“I’m assuming you’d like to talk about this mission,” her gaze flicked over to Peter, wordlessly asking if they could speak so close to him.

 

“Yes, I’d like to know what you’ve got so far, he’s asleep.” Natasha nodded, pulled a stick from her pocket and threw it to him before turning on her heel and making her way to the elevator.

 

“That’s what we know, it’s almost everything, I’m expecting he’ll give something else to you when you go in.” He turned the stick in his hands while the elevator doors closed and looked back over at the couch, gauging to see if he has time to grab his laptop from two rooms over.

 

The boy’s face was lax, devoid of any pain or discomfort and making him look so much younger. It took Tony less than two minutes to retrieve his laptop, and when he came back, Peter hadn’t moved whatsoever. He sat on the floor with the computer in his lap, the screen tilted in a way so in case Peter woke, he wouldn’t be able to see it. The file didn’t contain much, the names, ages, general information of the guards and doctors. The information on Ryan was more developed, Tony read the short paragraphs explaining his motivations, gritting his teeth as he did so.

 

The man had been involved and employed in the Weapon X program, which was the government genetic research facility that enhanced mutants and even baseline humans. Ryan worked there for a good amount of time, but the file explained he didn’t agree with creating and further developing enhanced individuals, so he broke away. Reportedly, he took with him equipment and research on the experiments that had been conducted on multiple subjects. He didn’t want to make more mutants, he wanted to study and experiment on them, to take them apart and understand them. It wasn’t clear what he was planning on using the information on, or if he even wanted to do anything with it, but it was clear that he didn’t want any more mutants in the world. His hatred for the enhanced was written all over that file and etched deep into Peter’s wounds. His son suffered for no reason other than to fulfil the sickening desire that Ryan had to pick apart and understand the powers, through any means necessary, even if it concerned torturing a sixteen-year-old.

 

He reached out for something to hold, his hand automatically wrapping around the coffee table leg and gripping tightly. He pressed his teeth together and closed his eyes as his nostrils flared in anger.

 

“F.R.I.D.A.Y ask Natasha when we’re leaving.” He pulled the stick from the laptop, putting it in his pocket and shutting the screen. He pushed it off his lap and leant back so he could analyse Peter’s face to make sure there wasn’t any indication that he was having a nightmare.

 

“Miss Romanoff is ready now Sir.” He sighed, a thick blanket of worry settling over him when he realised going meant leaving Peter. Standing and moving to lean over the couch he hesitated for as long as he could before relenting and laying a gentle hand on his cheek and whispering his name.

 

“Pete, hey buddy?” The teen sniffed and turned his whole body into the touch, even in sleep he sought affection that had been lacked for three weeks. “Yeah, hey, wanna wake up for a sec kiddo?” He grumbled a string of incoherent nonsense and whined softly into Tony hand, which took a moment to brush an errant curl away from his face.

 

“Mm, Dad?” His voice was croaky from the nap and his eyebrows crinkled as he scrunched his eyes and blinked sleepily.

 

“Yep. That’s me bud, hi, hello.” He huffed a light laugh and bent over to scoop the boy up, curling his warm body against his chest and reaching back down to grab a blanket which he tucked over Peter as he walked towards the door. “You wanna sleep in your room?”

 

“Your bed’s bigger,” the teen yawned against Tony’s shoulder and snuggled closer, hiding his face into the crook of his Dad’s neck.

 

“Okay,” the mechanic changed directions and kissed Peter’s head as he began to explain the plan. “I know you’re still tired, and you haven’t really been alone since you got back, but I need to sort something out tonight. How do you feel about it, how much time are you comfortable without me here for?”

 

“Wha’s the time?” Tony glanced down at his watch, tilting Peter’s body so he could read the screen without putting the boy down.

 

“Nearly eight, why?”

 

“M’ okay, I’ll make food with M – uh, Steve – with Steve.” He raised his eyebrows at the teen as he pushed the door open with his foot and made for the bed. “He suggested it – thought it would help to do some domestic stuff. I think he said something about how doing domestic things helped him and Bucky, as a distraction and reminder that people like us can do normal stuff like that.” Surprising himself, Tony didn’t tense when Peter brought up Barnes.

 

“When did you have a nice ol’ chat with Capsical, huh?” He rolled his eyes and blinked the sleep from his eyes as his Dad lowered him to the bed.

 

“One night I didn’t have a nightmare, I kinda woke up earlier than you and wandered to get some water and he was already up. Honestly, it looked like he had been up for ages and had already finished a run or something like that.” Peter was a big culprit of sleeping in till noon unless somebody gave him a reason to be up.

 

“What time was it, like seven, eight am?” He nodded with a face that said, ‘how could anyone wake up that early, willingly.’

 

“Yeah, I don’t know how anyone does that,” he paused, the humour slipping from his face as he fixed Tony with a more meaningful gaze. “Seriously, I’ll be fine Dad. I’m not gonna sleep while you aren’t here, but I’m good to just cook something with Steve and then maybe hang around, watch T.V or something.” Peter watched Tony carefully with a reassuring smile on his face, searching through the unsureness and hesitation to go. “Dad… I promise I’ll be fine, okay? I can even call while you’re on the way there and back if that’d make you feel better, but I’m going to be fine on my own for a bit, not even a whole night.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Tony leaned forward, cupping Peter’s cheeks and tilting his head down so he could press a quick kiss to the crown of his head. “Okay kid, I know. I do expect you to call if literally anything, and I mean anything, goes wrong. I would drop everything I was doing in a heartbeat to come back here if you needed me, I love you.”

 

“I Love you too.” Peter whispered into Tony’s collarbone. “You going now?”

 

“Yeah, just wanted to make sure you were safe before I left. Have a long shower, catch up on texting Ned, your phone’s been blowing up, take it easy kiddo.” He managed to ruffle the teen’s curls fondly before standing up and walking to the door, pointing to his own bathroom. “Just use my shower, it’s got fluffier towels and the steam will help with the sore throat.” Peter frowned confusedly.

 

“I never said I had a sore –”

 

“What can I say, paternal instinct. Well, that plus the fact that you’ve sounded like a toad since you woke up.” He laughed as he stepped into the hallway and dodged the pillow that was thrown at him.

 

“You were the one who woke me up!” Peter called as his Dad’s warm laugh followed him down the hall.

 

The teen walked into the bathroom while Tony took the elevator to the ground floor and got into the car with Natasha.

 

“Is the kid gonna be alright on his own for a while?” She asked after driving in relative silence for a few minutes.

 

“Yeah, he’ll call if anything’s wrong and mentioned cooking with Cap for a bit.” The assassin scoffed and shook her head, amused.

 

“You’re coming home to a plateful of something sweet and a kitchen covered in flour if I could make a guess.” Tony smiled and reached for his phone as it buzzed.

 

‘Just finished in the shower, heading to kitchen now, try not to punch anything for me’

 

He shook his head much like Natasha and mirrored her amusement with his own fond smile. “Pete good?”

 

“Yeah, he’s fine, going to the kitchen now, so I’m assuming you were right and I’m gonna end up brushing flour off everything he touches for the next week.” He leant back in the seat and stretched his legs out more, reclining slightly before turning to look at the assassin. “Thanks for the stick, this asshole is a piece of work,” he put the stick down in the cupholder next to her.

 

“Saying things like that makes me want to ask you, what’s the plan here? Are you going to kill him, hand him over, or something different entirely?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned out the front window, glaring at the headlights illuminating the road in front of the car.

 

“Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t love anything more than killing this guy, but… Peter’s weird about that, he doesn’t kill, he doesn’t like to be involved in that stuff, and I know for a fact that if he found out I ended this prick, he’d find a way to blame himself.”

 

“Not if I do it,” Natasha said coldly, her gaze fixed solidly ahead, fingers holding the wheel with a firm grip.

 

“Mhm,” he hummed uncommittedly, skipping around actually saying the words ‘would you be a dear and kill the shithead that tortured my son for three weeks please?’ Because he didn’t think that would go down well with the recovering Peter, who’s self-sacrificing and ‘need to save everybody he can,’ traits, were still very much in place. “How far away is this place again?”

 

“We’ve been holding them all at the facility over on Coney Island, so less than an hour.”

 

“Wait, is that – are we talking about Rikers Island Prison? Is that where they’re being held?”

 

“No, same general area though, it’s one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s old ones, so no general prisoners, just ours.” He settled back, his spike of worry easing as he was assured. They drove on in silence once again, letting Tony text Peter back, Natasha focusing on the road.

 

It must have been at least another twenty minutes before she spoke again, and although it was a warning, there was no threat in her tone. “You know, when you go in to talk to the main guy, all he’ll want to do is taunt you.” He bobbed his head once as a sign that he knew.

 

“I guess he’ll learn not to poke the bear.” He sounded genuinely angry, but it didn’t seem to phase Natasha as she laughed aloud.

 

“Yeah, don’t piss off ‘Mama bear Stark’ over here,” she goaded strategically.

 

“Yeah, real hilarious, I bet Clint enjoys the parenting jokes just as much as I do,” he shot back sarcastically.

 

“Got a bit of bite in that tone, this is exactly what I mean.” She turned momentarily to fix him with a look that said, ‘you better listen to what I’m about to say.’ “This is how it’s going to turn out, you’ll walk in there, Ryan will crack a few comments about the general stuff, similar to what he was saying while you were punching his lights out back when we found them all. I’m rounding up here, but I’d guess you last about ten minutes, tops, before you lose your shit and give him exactly what he wants, a reaction.”

 

“God, you sound like Peter,” he sighed dramatically, dragging his hands down his face and groaning.

 

“Good, the kid’s a smart one then,” Tony laughed, calling Peter smart was like calling a hurricane a light drizzle, there was so much more there than ‘smart.’ “Anyway, you need to control yourself in there, when he starts to get to you and you’re seconds away from loosing it, tap your finger to the side of your leg twice and I’ll step in.” He raised his eyebrows in question, “the trick is to never give them the satisfaction they’re looking for, unless it’s for your own benefit of course.”

 

“Wow, getting interrogation tips from the Black Widow herself, consider me humbled.” The comment must have either not registered to Natasha, or she honestly didn’t care, because her face stayed even and the perfect picture of calm.

 

“See what I did there? You made a comment, I put a front up, ‘like water off a ducks back,’ is the general idea you need to go for.” He sighed when he realised he had played right along without realising it, he had just effectively proved her point for her. “Remember that when you get inside.” The crunching of gravel and the slight screeching of the breaks signified both the end of the conversation and their arrival. The building was grey, unobtrusive, very easily overlooked he thought as they stepped out of the car and stood at the security doors. “I’m not letting you talk to the main guy first, start with the guards, then the doctors, then you can talk to him.”

 

“Fine. Does punching count as loosing my shit?” He grinned mirthfully, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

 

“I’ll tell you what, you can punch one of the doctors or guards, that’s it.” She had a hint of a smirk on her face too as she punched in the security codes.

 

“I already know exactly which one, I would’ve hit him even if you said not to, I hope you know that.” He followed behind her as the door clicked and automatically swung open for them, closing shut and beeping once they were inside.

 

“I know, that’s why I said you could.” Her shoes tapped over the tiles as she led them down a hall and to a stairwell. “Rhodey figured it out like you, so he’s the doctor with a black eye.”

 

“How’d he know which doctor it was?”

 

“He analysed the photo they sent from the intubation, the arm of the guy holding the tube had a birthmark on his elbow, so it wasn’t hard to figure out which of the three doctors it was.” He frowned, picturing the photo he had gotten only minutes after the audio file, he could remember how tensed the bicep muscle had been, how much force the doctor had used to get the tube further down his son’s throat. “You good?” He swallowed and nodded decidedly.

 

“Just picturing how good it’ll feel to see the black eye Rhodey gave him,” he smirked with malice and Natasha returned it.

 

“He may have a couple broken fingers too, but that was a gift from me.” She looked proud as she opened the door at the bottom of the stairwell and held it open with her foot as they both walked through. “There are forty-six guards, three in each cell, the ones that escorted Peter around are in the first one.” She tapped in another security code and the door buzzed, signalling his entrance. “These guys aren’t likely to do anything, they wouldn’t talk to anyone for a while,” the blaze in her eyes said that she got them to talk.

 

He walked into the cell calmly, forcing himself to keep his face a mask of placid indifference. There were three men, each cuffed to a wall. The chains had enough give to them so that the men could sit and stand easily, Tony almost wished they hadn’t been given the extra length considering the positioning of what Peter’s restraints had been.

 

“Why’d you follow orders from him?” He asked roughly, not bothering to even show the anger on his relaxed face, keeping it bottled for now.

 

“Needed the cash, no other jobs payed as well.” After only brief hesitation, one of the men answered honestly, without guilt on his face but a tinge showing through in his voice.

 

“Good reasoning,” he said sarcastically. “I hope you enjoy your multiple life sentences for aiding and abetting the aggravated assaults of a minor.” He turned and left the room without even looking back at the three men who hopefully wouldn’t see daylight when they were handed over to the government. Natasha let the door open for him and he stepped out, meeting her eyes with an unreadable expression. “Well they suck,” he said acrimoniously, “I don’t need to see the rest, just the doctors and the lead asshole.”

 

“Try play the rest like how you just did,” she advised, turning back to the stairwell and taking him down another level. When they were stood outside another cell door he turned to her and levelled with a gaze that he couldn’t keep the bitterness out of.

 

“This the doctor who did the intubation?” She nodded, holding ground and waving her arm as if to give him a single pass. “Buzz me in, I’m not asking any questions, pure aggression relief.”

 

“Fine, don’t misalign a joint when you punch him without the gauntlet on like always.”

 

“That was one time, you guys are worse than Cap,” he sighed with a smile on his face before he dropped it quickly and turned to the door, which Natasha opened for him, he looked on with intent and flexed his hand out.

 

The doctor was clearly not a fighter in any way, he swore a lot and didn’t know how to properly take a hit. Before he started, he did note the three oddly angled fingers on his right hand, and the staining bruise overshadowing his eye. When Tony was done, he wiped his fist on the man’s shirt and glared at him. “I’d give you anaesthetics for that, but then again, you shoved a tube down my son’s throat without so much as a fucking cough drop.” He stood easily and walked out of the doorway which the assassin had opened for him around the same time as he delivered the last punch. “That was fun,” he said coldly, nudging his head toward the stairwell, “let’s see the last guy so we can head back.” She wordlessly led him down two more levels and stopped in the middle of the hallway, gesturing to the larger metal door which separated them from Ryan.

 

“Don’t give him the satisfaction, tap your leg twice and I’m there, got it.”

 

“Yep, I got it.” He felt torn between wanting to kick the door down and give the man hell and setting up extra barricades, leaving him to rot away like the corpse he deserves to be. “If it’ll keep him from getting satisfaction, I’ll stay calm and let him get what he deserves.” He grits his teeth unnoticeably as the door unlocks and he pushes it open.

 

Ryan is sat at the edge of a low-grade cot, both ankles shackled to the wall with less give than the doctors, but more than Tony would’ve liked to see. He looked up when the mechanic walked in, his lips pulling into a malicious smirk. He had a cut just above his eyebrow and a split lip, which cracked open even wider when he smiled. The faded yellow-green remains of the last time he had an encounter with the angered Father.

 

“Nice face,” he jeered pointedly, not even flinching when the expected ringing noise of Natasha kicking the door in warning from outside the room echoed throughout the cell. Ryan however, who hadn’t expected the noise, winced slightly, the smirk faltering for the shortest second before coming back full force.

 

“Stark, nice to see you again. I seem to recall that last time we met, while you were busy with me, the Spider was bleeding out, hm?” Tony didn’t let his face show the guilt that sparked when he remembered. He shrugged carelessly.

 

“Sure, if that’s what you want to focus on,” he kept his expression as apathetic as humanly possible, keeping his eyes locked directly on those careless grey ones before him.

 

“If you’re curious, I’d always love to focus more on Petey, he’s a special one, isn’t he?” The mechanic didn’t move, didn’t twitch, didn’t waver in his unrelenting eye contact. “Hm? Don’t wanna talk about the boy much then?”

 

“I’m impartial to the topic of conversation, so go ahead,” he expected Ryan to pause, to take a beat before responding, but he snapped with an answer, the smirk on his face twisting into a self-satisfied sneer.

 

“Let’s talk about how he sounds when he screams.” He was surveying Tony’s face carefully, waiting for any hint that he was getting to him. “That’s a beautiful discussion point, or at least I think so,” narrowing his eyes and leaning back on the bed so his back touched the wall, Ryan picked his smirk up. “Or, how about what that tube looked like, halfway down his throat, making him whimper while he choked and begged for you to save him.”

 

“I bet it was a shame,” he said evenly, narrowing his eyes right back at the man.

 

“What?” Ryan snapped hotly, his lips peeling back into something not unlike a snarl.

 

“When I did, I bet it was a shame, when I saved him, and you were dumped here till I could be bothered coming and dealing with you.” The man laughed dryly, crossing his arms behind his head in a show of relaxation, ignoring how the ankle restraints rattled as he shifted on the bed.

 

“You see, that’s the thing Stark, did you? Did you really save him in time? How many panic attacks has he had, how much has he cried for me to stop hurting him?” Tony didn’t answer, he didn’t need to because if he couldn’t think of a way to clap back, there was no way he would open his mouth and give the man satisfaction. “I’m sat in here, not having to lift a finger, while he’s still suffering. He can’t be fixed, he’s staying traumatised for the rest of his life and you know it.” His finger twitched, and he considered tapping his leg twice to call for Natasha, but Ryan was still talking, he had leant forward on the bed and his volume was increasing with each sentence. “That pretty reactor on his chest, that’s never going away either. By the second day I had him, I knew he would never forget anything that happened. He broke. That. Cannot. Be. Fixed.” There was a wide grin plastered across his face, and Tony returned it easily as his fingers brushed his leg.

 

“You know what else can’t be fixed?” Ryan looked at him disbelievingly as Natasha swung the door open and strode to his side, raising her arm to reveal the black handgun.

 

“A bullet, straight through your skull,” she finished, firing the weapon and not even blinking as Ryan’s body slumped against the mattress and began to stain the blanket crimson.

 

“Asshole,” Tony muttered, stepping out into the hallway and letting out the breath he had been holding without looking back at the corpse. The assassin walked straight past him, the gun already concealed again as she sauntered back to the car. “Thanks, I bet that was satisfying,” he said to Natasha as they slipped back into the car and pulled away from the building.

 

“More than you’d think actually,” he had done exactly what would work best, conceal the reaction to prevent giving him satisfaction, death was basically just a bonus. He flicked a quick text off to Peter and spent the rest of the car ride with his head leant back against the seat, eyes closed against the inky blackness that rolled past the windows as they drove home. “We’re here, go see your kid and stop exuding parental angst.” He rolled his eyes at Natasha and walked straight to the elevator, hitting the button and tapping his foot passive aggressively the whole way up, as if anyone could hear him.

 

“Heads up Tones!” Something blurry flew for his head and he ducked instinctively.

 

“Fucking hell!” He yelled as whatever it was exploded into tiny pieces behind him.

 

“Language,” he heard Peter’s voice cracked with laughter, and he would’ve smiled, if Rhodey hadn’t thrown something else at him, which luckily, he caught this time.

 

“Stop throwing stuff at him, he just got back,” Steve was always the voice of reason. He looked down at the object in his hand, not at all surprised to see a slightly burnt cookie, and when he turned he could also see the remnants of the one he had ducked.

 

“Did you three just throw a cookie at me as soon as the elevator opened?” Rhodey held a hand over his face to try and subdue his snickering, Steve shook his head in disappointment but with a smirk while Peter slid across the floor in his socks and launched himself at Tony, a bubbly laugh escaping his mouth as he shoved his face into his Dad’s neck.

 

“I burnt the cookies a little, I washed my hair again and I missed you a little but you’re here and I love you.” Tony sighed happily and leant down to press a kiss amongst the boy’s mop of soft, brunette, curls.

 

“Missed you too kiddo, love you,” he whispered into Peter’s hair, bringing his arms up to wrap around the younger Stark. While the teen’s face was turned into his chest, he looked to Rhodey and caught his eye. He mouthed a ‘thank you,’ waving one hand over his eye to mimic the doctor’s shiner and his friend smiled, brushing off the thanks and mouthing back ‘any time.’ “I’m choosing to not look at how big of a mess you definitely made, so let’s head to the lounge kid,” he thanked Steve quickly and led Peter out of the kitchen, keeping his chin leant on his head.

 

“Everything good?” He nodded wordlessly but the boy understood. “Is – what… can I ask what happened?” They sat on the couch and Tony moved Peter back, so he rested against his chest comfortingly, smoothing a gentle finger over his pule point momentarily.

 

“You can, and I’m not giving you details, but he won’t be getting near you. Ever. Again. And I can swear my life on that.” The look on the teen’s face didn’t say he was comforted fully by the statement, and the mechanic knew exactly why. “Natasha did it Pete, you aren’t allowed to blame yourself for this one,” he immediately relaxed against Tony and they both sat in easy quiet, listening to the background noise of the T.V. “You should get another nap in before the sun rises and tomorrow starts.” Peter hummed aloud and tucked his arm over his Dad’s chest to rest his chin on it blearily, containing a yawn as he did so.

 

“Mm, you need to as well,” he mumbled tiredly into the crook of his arm.

 

“Fine,” he didn’t put up much of a fight, the adrenaline rush his head got from visiting those holding cells had long since faded, leaving him exhausted. It didn’t take either of them long to fall asleep, but it did take time for both of them to wake up. Peter managed to sleep six hours without waking, and by the time he was fluttering his eyelids open and blinking against the assault of pink morning light peering in through the window of the lounge, he connected the dots well enough to smile against his Dad’s neck. He hadn’t woken from a nightmare, and he felt like he could see the light at the end of the tunnel that was recovery.

 

It took him four months before two things they had both been waiting for happened. Firstly, the last scarring of the arc reactor faded away, and along with it, so too did Peter’s resistance to put the suit back on and swing along the skyline of New York. Tony watched his suit camera during his first patrol back as Spider-Man, and he wouldn’t deny the tears that rolled down his cheeks when Peter dropped through the window and pulled off his mask, a broad grin spread across his tinted cheeks and sweaty hair curling around the edges.

 

Tony was proud.

 

Peter was healing.

 

They were content. They were okay.


End file.
